


I Cross My Heart (Hiatus)

by SingingBlender



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Adler will too someday, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Confessions, Denial of Feelings, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, PTSD, Park tries to understand Bell, Rating & Tags May Change, Recovery, Redemption, Slow Burn, doing my best with military talk, male!bell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingBlender/pseuds/SingingBlender
Summary: “Bell, I feel like I owe you.”She said those words a few feet away and watched Bell, who was on the gurney. Remembering these words, it was clear that she meant it towards him. Who would have thought saving someone’s life could rewrite history by an action that takes courage and determination?-With Park reaching an ultimatum in holding Bell in custody in MI6, she goes off on a journey on who “Bell” really is. It was tough at first, yet as time passed by, something more was chipping beneath him, almost taking off her mask of professionalism.For Adler and a couple of his members in his team, it seemed too good to be true as if she could get a hold of him well. That is until they come to England and experience second thoughts that would develop into a bigger picture of how they would find Perseus.And maybe how Adler feels towards Bell.-(😔📚✍️ the author is currently studying, please bear with him)
Relationships: Bell & Helen A. Park, Bell/Helen A. Park, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler/Bell
Comments: 55
Kudos: 120





	1. Calm before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you are new here, welcome! Please read the chapter warnings as it will help both of us out!
> 
> I'm going to try to develop the characters of Park, Adler, and Bell and other characters all while retaining some of their info and certain personalities as I loved them so much! It's also my first time posting in AO3 and writing in general, so I may be a little rusty when it comes to this.
> 
> This will also be a long slow burn fic, so expect a lot of chapters coming along! Constructive criticism is welcomed here!
> 
> I apologize if there are certain grammatical errors as English isn't my first language and thank you to my beta-readers!

**Kashkarantsy, USSR**  
**March 15, 1981**

* * *

Park was having second thoughts about laying down on the bed to recover. The whole thing was more hurting than comforting. The bed wasn’t the comfiest she’d ever laid in, but she could adjust to the hard mattress. It doesn’t help the fact she was lying on one side where her injuries hurt the most.

She looked at the clock in the room. It was 0330 hours; roughly 2 hours have passed ever since the team made their way to Solovetsky. Sims was sleeping in the other room across the hallway while the others were in their respective rooms with each other.

The attack was successful. They saved Europe and the nukes didn’t go off. But something much bigger was in Park’s mind. Something that could mean the future of everyone. She then remembered.

**_“Bell, I feel like I owe you.”_ **

She said those words a few feet away and watched Bell, who was on the gurney. Remembering these words, it was clear that she meant it towards him. Who would have thought saving someone’s life could rewrite history by an action that takes courage and determination?

Death didn’t come to her just yet; well, almost came to her before Bell grabbed and hooked her. And here she was, looking at Bell strapped up closely on the verge of passing out.

The situation kept replaying in her head as if it was a reminder; a nightmare even that haunted her and left a scar much bigger and deeper than the one on her neck. Adjusting her blanket because she felt it was heavy, even though it was light, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep, but she can’t.

She recalled her voice having a hint of empathy towards Bell once Adler prepares to inject the dosages directly through the eye socket.

 _Injecting directly into the brain could provoke seizures or worse!_ she exclaimed to Adler.

It was one of those moments Park thought of how far the human body could withstand different interrogation methods, be it physical, chemical, or mental in a state where one is severely injured. The thought of going through more pain was more than enough to change her mind on whose side she is on; the crown or the team?

Gathering intel about the whereabouts of Perseus and his connections from Bell, from the beginning of the operation, has moulded not only the team, but her as well. It made her more determined to catching Perseus more than ever and neutralizing his connections in different countries and continents.

The method, however, was getting too much, and she regretted being a part of it. Bell went through a lot, experienced real and imaginary trauma, and been in close-calls where his life was at risk more than ever.

Sweat was slowly creeping up from behind her back. Something isn’t right, or so she thought of it, to say the least. Gathering her thoughts in bed, she thought of the possible outcomes after their successful siege in Solovetsky, specifically where Bell will be landing and where his future holds.

One was letting him stay and continue their operations to find Perseus. The other may be letting him go and be under witness protection. Or…

She knew that would happen. As an asset that was under the MK-Ultra program, she knew Bell will be killed for knowing too much about what was given to him.

The CIA implanting fake memories, causing imaginary trauma, to the numerous and countless methods of interrogation that was performed on him were all too much valuable information to be given out. Uncomfortable with the thought of it, she shifts and repositions herself and thinks deeper.

The intel gathered from the Soviet training course in Ukraine a month before shows. Hudson said that if the asset knew too much, they will need to end the asset.

Lightly scratching around the bandage on her forearm, she thought. _I know Bell could be of good use, still. But how?_

 _Maybe the MI6? I could recruit him there and give him a life that is much better than ending up in a blood pool. Maybe his duties to the crown may be stronger than I imagined,_ she scoffed at the idea.

In terms of the organizations she’s connected to, the crown is where it’s at. Her duty to the crown was the most she could dedicate her life to the country and her brother.

When her brother was killed in a terrorist attack a few years ago, she abandoned her program in international relations and went into international para-military organizations. It meant bringing justice for her brother and giving back to the country she gives herself into.

From the times she helped and rescued him in East Berlin, to him saving her life back in Cuba, Park garnered her thoughts around Bell working alongside her; finding Perseus and his connections in Europe and other parts of the world with the collaboration of other intelligence agencies.

It then struck her. It would be a better idea for Bell to be with her continuing the operations without Adler. Speaking of Adler, it would be best to resign herself from the team and focus her duties more in her home country.

Park knew Bell would fare a better life at MI6 than to let him stay in Adler’s team. Coming from the sheets, she raised herself carefully out of bed.

“Bloody hell…” Even though she tried hard enough, the slightest pressure to the stitches on her right forearm sends a painful sting to her.

She looked again at the time; 0408 hours. Never in her life, she would think of this dilemma for more than 30 minutes. Quick and direct thinking was her quip. It helped her escape from the numerous times she was in a sticky situation in the recent operations. This time, however, was entirely new to her.

Careful and thoughtful thinking wasn't she committed to herself ever since she thought about what to eat for breakfast when Mason and Woods were the ones bringing food from outside. She fumbled on the creases of the blanket, thinking of how she could bring Bell back to her. For the country and crown.

* * *

It was morning, and among all others in the team, she was always first in waking up. Being an early bird has its advantages; one was being able to enjoy peace, and the other being able to gather one’s thoughts to know what to do for today. For now, it’s the latter part that she’s more focused on at the moment.

Another thing Park is proud of herself is multitasking. Sitting on the chair having her morning smoke, she listened to some audio recordings.

The recordings were in Russian and German, and she managed to understand most parts, but Adler is someone one would rather bring out into the open when it comes to talking the matter out to locals and authorities to gather intel.

Some information has long been decrypted by Bell ever since he arrived at the safe house back in West Berlin. Most of the information that was decrypted was about Perseus, while others were more of hidden agendas between two people.

She would often check in on Bell to see if he needs help, but the man would often wave her out and say he could handle all this by himself for a full two to three hours late at night before going to bed. On certain days in the late hours, she would review the findings Bell wrote in the logbook to see if it matches what she’s thinking. 

Concluding the recordings, she puts out her cigarette and settled the morning preparing coffee. Sims is usually the one in charge to prepare it for the rest, but the coffee he makes is a bit too bland and strong for her taste, so she decided to make her own Cappuccino that she has long craved since her time in a café in Italy gathering intel on a particular Mafia group that had ties to terrorist groups in South Europe.

She sipped her coffee and smiled to herself as it was a successful recreation of the one she drank long ago. The clock read 0638; a perfect time for the group to wake up and get to work.

“Good Morning Park,” It was Adler, not wearing his signature aviators. Even though they worked together for a long while now, she still finds it odd every time to see him not wearing them as she thought it was a part of his body that wasn’t meant to be removed. 

“Good morning,” She handed out a mug that contained the coffee she made earlier. The look on her face wasn’t the brightest, ironic of her being a morning person usually. A part of her thought it was because of the future events and actions he will do later on. When Adler slurped a bit of her coffee, he was wide-eyed on the taste of it. 

“This coffee tastes amazing! Didn’t know Sims had a change of thought for this once. His coffee wasn’t the best, but it made me think it’s much worse,” He said, taking another satisfying sip into it.

“Actually, I made that brew for today. Gave me a shot at it. I thought I couldn’t recreate it since it was months I had one since my assignment in Italy.” She proudly said to herself, crossing her arms, looking at Adler, who was looking at the mug smiling.

They sat together at the table, drinking their morning coffee. Adler took out his cigarette and lit one as per usual of him being a smoker like her. She watched him taking drags while reading the Russian daily newspaper. The newspaper didn’t have any eye-catching headlines that had ties to their operations, and she was thankful for that.

Many of the headlines and their leads caught her attention as most of them were propaganda that praised the Soviet Union and their advancements over the Free World.

Regarding her political views, she wouldn’t believe in these headlines anyway as these cater mostly to the majority in influencing their thoughts on the Union. Looking away from him, she finished her coffee and looked out the window.

The scenery was amazing despite the infil point being only a few hundred kilometres away offshore that was bombarded with concrete buildings and hangers where the team gathered.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and the blend of orange and blues in the sky amazes her. She had never felt this peaceful since her time in university when she would look out into the window that had a view of Reading, her hometown.

She misses home a lot. Maybe some of the members of the team miss home too. Too bad the peace was disturbed in her mind thinking about Bell and his future.

Adler noticed the downed look on her face. “Something wrong?” He lowered the newspaper, meeting her staring out the window.

“Not much.” She lied, continuing to look outside. “It’s just that I kind of miss my hometown for once. Supposed we’ve been to many dodgy places in the world, but never have I felt the want of going home and doing my job there. I rarely work in London anymore since my call to your team,” Park clasped and rubbed her hands gently but firmly, looking at Adler with distraught.

The cold morning in the outskirts of Russia with the cool Arctic air got into her once she settled in the safe house. She wasn’t used to the cold climate even though she wrapped herself in two layers in the morning. Adler didn’t seem to mind it and wore his sweater only.

He went back on reading the newspaper. “Park, you’ve been with us for merely 2 months, and you’re worried about home now?” Adler didn’t seem to empathize much with her that much.

Park kept it to herself about working outside London for almost a half a decade; almost like him tracking down Perseus outside America. He continued reading the newspaper until Park suddenly spoke.

“Adler, you on the other hand have been tracking Perseus for over a decade. I’m sure you missed home by now.” She leaned forward. The attuned voice of hers went from one side to the other of Adler’s ears as he continued to cover his, somewhat dismal, face from the statement with the newspaper.

She was observing him, deep in thoughts with the body language he is presenting to her. Park and Adler were neck and neck on who’s the most observant in the group.

Adler would survey Bell from time to time. One time, she noticed Adler looking at them when Bell entered the darkroom while she was developing films and engaging a small talk. He glared at him once, but Park gave him a sign he wasn’t hurting her and was trying to interact with all of the people in the safe house like the social butterfly he is.

Closing the newspaper and setting it aside, he took a puff from his cigarette and looked out the window where she once looked out.

He did not want to be a sentimental person and being attached to something at a deep level when it comes to being in a job that would take your life when taking the wrong steps and decisions. It removes the feeling of being soft, and he wanted to be focused on the job. 

He left her utterance hanging. Park didn’t mind it because she was used to the kind of conversations where the other didn't respond by words, but rather by simple body language. Besides, she doesn't want to argue with him in the beautiful morning they are currently sharing.

Slumping on the chair, she asked, “What are your plans after this? We’ve managed to control the whole situation and abolished Perseus’ plans in detonating those nukes,” Her gaze met Adler’s, who just turned to her.

His expression was unsure at the moment. Bell told the truth and Adler was satisfied in nullifying Perseus' plan that would mean the end of Europe and making America public enemy number one.

“I don’t know yet, as far as I know,” Adler said. Uncertainty was written all over his face. “You?” He returned the question.

“Well, I will be sent back to the UK. I was given leave by Hudson, in courtesy of the chief, to return and recover there. I was also informed I would be given a task force in finding Perseus and his connections back home,” Park informed. 

He nodded back, and a faint smile was visible to her. At the back of her head, she was relieved, delighted even, to not work with him any time soon. _To be frank, he wasn’t the most pleasant person I’ve worked with_ , she replayed her words to Bell in her mind.

The methods of getting information from an asset were too forced, and it contradicts Park’s technique of persuasion and trust.

The thought of finding out the human body's limits disturbs her to the point of leaving the interrogation room where Bell once sat and was strapped; she regretted leaving him alone with Adler behind the glass repeating the trigger phrase.

A minute of silence followed between them. She looked out again watching the mix of blues and oranges, gradually becoming a mix of yellow and gold. Sighing, she closed her eyes again and took a deep breath.

After a few minutes of sitting and relaxing, she stood up and cleaned the mugs. While washing the left-over dishes, which Woods and Mason always forget to do, she carefully thought of the ways she could get Bell back to her in the custody of MI6.

She looked over her shoulders left and right and saw no one aside from Adler a few feet away, smoking and looking at the evidence board. Park usually talks to herself when no one is around, but she trained herself to do it quietly as it was pointed out by Sims from time to time when she was in the vicinity with him.

He would usually call her out doing it and ask if everything is alright, but to her it is ok. Her usual excuse for doing it was double-checking if everything is in its right place. That meant everything on the evidence board and the cassette recordings arranged in the correct timeline of retrieval and sequence of events.

Her train of thoughts suddenly crashed when she heard the door of the private office creaked and closed. She looked, and it was Hudson.

Did she even saw him this morning? 

_Hang on, was Hudson on the cell phone?_ She swore she saw him ending the call.

“Adler, I need to have a word with you,” The sternness of his voice showed something serious was coming up. It was a brief moment of interaction between the two of them, but she could hear Adler asking Hudson for a moment as he was organizing the mess on the table where he once worked on.

She proceeded to look back and return to washing the dishes as if she wasn’t eavesdropping but it soon almost blew her cover as she saw the stopper was in the place of the drain minutes ago and the sink was beginning to overflow.

“Shit!” Park swore silently, forcefully closing the faucet, trying not to make the whole situation obvious to the two of them.


	2. Act of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Park makes the tables turn, and the turn was rather bloody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter conjuncts to the part where Adler shot Bell at the 'good' ending, but I added a little twist to it.
> 
> I also retained the dialogues of Adler when he talked to Bell so expect the same things he will say later on in this chapter!

The conversation continued between the two. Some looks of disapproval were exchanged; Adler had a more objected look since he wasn’t wearing his shades. Hudson crossed his arms explaining to Adler the gravity of the situation they are having. It involved Bell and how he is a volatile asset capable of turning against the team.

Park disagreed in her mind. Bell is highly regarded for the information they acquired from him since his involvement with the MK-Ultra program and operations that will be conducted in other areas may still be a good place for him to be involved in. It will all be settled with trust with one another to make him stay with the group and not be returned to the hands of Perseus, but there were much more to what Hudson said to Adler and that was an order from the White House.

Park overheard, “If the asset knows too much of what we did, we end the asset. That’s it,” That asset was Bell. A replaceable asset that can be thrown away and be forgotten. A loose end in other words. Tie it up, and forget about it.

Park hated the idea of killing an individual that held vital information, but the back of her mind reconsidered this to a degree. Sure he may know a lot, but that doesn’t mean he should be ended right away. His experiences and expertise in cryptography could be of good use for her part if they don’t want him anymore.

She finished the dishes just in time to join the conversation of the two operatives. Hudson wanted to not involve Park in this, but he thought it’s best to let her know rather than later.

“Agent Park, I’m sure you’ve heard our conversation a few minutes ago. I have to inform you that Bell is now, by means and circumstances, a highly sensitive individual who will most likely turn against us and defect towards the KGB and handing out our most sensitive intel about MK-Ultra and other operations. The White House has given orders of killing him,” He stated directly.

Adler had a look of regret because frankly, he didn’t even want to kill Bell, nor have plans on killing him. The expression wore off as he took in the reality that Bell could turn against them. Park took this as an opportunity to intervene.

“Hudson, why not let Bell be in the custody of MI6? To me? Rest assured he will be under strict monitoring by myself and the chief,” She protested. Adler looked at her in shock as this was an insane negotiation. Letting someone go into the hands of another intelligence agency and taking the blame if something happens to them is one thing Hudson nor Adler would agree on; let alone take the risk.

“Are you out of your mind?! If any sort of fuck-up will come between him and MI6, our fingerprints will be left on it. Park, I know it must be a hard decision to either let him stay or go, but the fate of the Free-World is in our hands, and millions of lives will be jeopardized. We can’t risk it.” Adler snapped back at her from the negotiation.

“And I will take the blame for it if that happens,” 

“You’re willing to risk millions of lives by someone with who we’ve already dealt enough work?”

“I am willing,”

Nothing else came out of their mouths. The three operatives stood against each other waiting who’s going to talk again. Park knew this kind of negotiation would end up in a standoff of whose orders should be taken. Regardless, she wouldn’t follow orders from the White House directly in a way, because she knew that Adler and Hudson are the one’s following those, and she would just be in the background assisting or watching them.

Park broke the silence. “I figured you’re going against me right now. I certainly don’t mind the opposition.”

“We had one goal, which was to stop Perseus, and you’re here stopping us from carrying out our orders from the White House. Whose side are you on Park?”

“I’m at the Crown’s side. No other way of you trying to make me Adler,” She talked back.

For Hudson and Adler, there’s nothing they could really do. It was stated in her dossier, that she was from MI6, but the fact that the operations were in collaboration with other intelligence agencies, Hudson had to think twice before being given the green light due to his leeriness. He was hesitant at first, but he had to be committed to working with others and eliminating his self-doubt, but now it came back all because of Park.

A few seconds passed until one of them spoke again, “Park, you better not fuck this up, because who knows what Bell could unleash to the world, and you’re the one to blame,” Adler snarled.

“And I will keep that box closed until Bell is good to let go no matter the circumstances,” She answered.

Park had enough of the quarrel and walked away. Hudson and Adler continued talking, but she didn’t want to waste her time anymore with them.

Park remembered Hudson mentioning killing Bell, but not know other details such as how and where they will kill him. Some of the places in Kashkarantsy were secluded enough to carry it out, but she doesn’t know which spot to be specific.

Frustrated, she rubbed her face and stood up. She walked over to her and opened her duffel bag that contained her personal belongings, her M1911, and a few other things she acquired and kept to herself as souvenirs. She couldn’t bear the look of how far she has come to be on duty for the team, but she realized her job is not done yet. She has to bring Bell back; be it by forcing it, or talking it out.

* * *

A few minutes passed, and she walked out again and met Sims. Adler was nowhere to be found, so she asked him.

“Sims, do you know where Adler went?”

“I heard he was going to the cliffside with Bell having a private talk,”

“Wait, Bell?”

“Yeah, he was in a rush somewhat,”

“I- I need to know where” She didn’t expect it to be this early for Bell to be up nor Adler going out with him.

“It’s just around half a mile west from here, can’t miss it,” Sims truthfully verified.

Park was able to gain some trust with Sims since he was friends with Lazar and they would be together talking and having some activities sometimes back in West Berlin, although she finds it sad that he acted much different with Lazar gone now, but he had to regain his composure and let things be and hope for the best.

Walking back to the bag, she grabbed her M1911 and put a silencer on it as a precaution, and concealed it in the inner pocket of her jacket.

The cliffside, which Sims said, had a trail that was hard to ignore, so she chose to go there and hope the two are there.

The cold wind blew into her as she walked out of the small safehouse. The safehouse looked like an ordinary house that had a design similar to the houses in the area, so it wasn’t suspicious to the people who are living there.

Briskly walking to the cliffside took her at least 15 minutes before finally arriving at the scene with Bell, still alive, looking at Adler, who was about to give him a short lecture on the decision he made, which was telling the truth.

She hid quickly behind an abandoned car and listened to the words Adler was saying. Park drew her silenced pistol and waited for the right time to engage.

“Arctic air. Clears the head, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does,” Bell replied. He took a breath and relished the cold air.

“Bell, you made two extraordinary sacrifices to stop Perseus. One was without your knowledge. The other… you made that decision in your own accord,”

Park peeked out and hid again once Adler turned to Bell again.

“I just want you to know this little thing that’s happened between you and me…”

“It was always for the greater good,” he threw the cigarette with a flick.

“You’re a goddamned hero, you know that kid?” He smiled and looked out again.

Bell noticed something was off between the way Adler kept on looking back and forth and adjusting his body to his side. It’s as though, he noticed his right hand positioning next to pockets as if he is about to draw something. It’s the moment he knew why he brought him here just the two of them, on the secluded cliffside a few kilometres from the safehouse, with no one else rather than him.

He thought he would get to confess to Adler about a feeling that’s been lingering on him for the past few months, but it looks like he won’t be given a chance to do so. Bell lightly hovered his hand over his pocket and took a breath in. He could feel his heart slowly picking up the pace from the rather uncomfortable silence lingering between them that is accompanied by the cool breeze from the sea in the morning.

“Heroes had to make sacrifices. That’s why when I ask you for one more, I hope you understand…”

Park noticed his hands on his pocket and aimed at the leg, and prepared for the worst.

Bell could feel his heart pumping out of his chest, waiting at any moment now with Adler making the position of his hand more obvious.

“It was never personal…”

Time froze for the three. The two men drew their guns and Park had one clear shot to his leg and not mess it up.

By luck, Park shot first. Then came Adler, and then came Bell. With the shot of Park to Adler’s leg, he messed up and shot Bell on his right shoulder, almost dangerously close to his neck. Bell shot Adler to his upper chest soon after he stumbled for the first few seconds.

A series of moans and groans follow after. Blood splattered and spilled on the grassy soil with some on the rocks where Adler stood.

“Huh?” Adler moaned in pain. He fell on his back, and he couldn’t stand up, knowing he got shot in the leg. He was also confused on how in the world did he get shot at the leg, and at the same time being shot at the chest.

Bell laid on the ground like Adler from the bullet. Comprehending what happened is what he can’t do at the moment as he focused on himself.

“Oh my god, Bell!” Park rushed towards him, ignoring Adler. She could see Bell losing blood by the seconds.

Bell noticed the figure blocking the sun’s light, but he couldn’t tell who it was. He then heard the accented voice of a woman.

“Bell… Bell!” She repeated his name.

“Park?” He mumbled.

“Come on Bell stay with me!” She tried to keep him awake, but he fainted a few seconds later.

Park carefully lifted Bell from the ground, and out of nowhere, Sims happened to show up. She assumed he followed her a few minutes after she left, knowing she was going to find Adler. He, too, may have wondered how Adler was doing, but the scene he witnessed wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“Park!”

“Sims! Get to Adler!”

“Oh man, doc ain’t gonna like where this is going,”

Adler’s vision blacked out as soon he heard the two operative’s voices. _Was this planned all along?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are very much appreciated!


	3. Reconsiderations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Park gets into a heated negotiation with Hudson. Fortunately, some things are better off talking it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I wish everyone a happy new year and thank you for the comments as it pushed me further into writing the story!
> 
> If you will notice the ellipses or "..." in the call, later on, it means Black or the President is on the line and Park couldn't really tell what they were talking about since it is in her point-of-view.
> 
> This chapter was also a bit tough for me because I can't really write arguments that well, but I tried to and will further improve more! As always, some feedback would be appreciated!

The journey back to the safehouse was hell for both. At certain points, Park nearly fell due to Bell’s weight over her shoulders. Sims didn’t have much problem as he was used to the whole carrying a downed person when in combat. He even tried to carry Adler bridal style because he found it much easier to do for him than the way Park was doing.

He opened the door to the rather medium-sized room that had two stretchers side by side. Park and Sims laid them down.

“Alright. I’ll go get the medical supplies. Watch both of ‘em while I’m at it.” Sims instructed as he walked out the door.

Park consulted Bell and checked the wound for any entry and exit points. Adler was next, but he was much worse since he took two bullets from her and Bell.

By the time Sims went back, they managed to stop the bleeding and patch both men without much trouble.

“I never thought it would end up like this,” Sims sat beside Park, exhausted from carrying Adler and looking at him.

“I expected it to be different, but I managed to find them and turn it around,” Park looked over Bell, who was still unconscious. It looked like he was sleeping peacefully, but the bandages wrapped over the wound say otherwise.

“You did this?” He looked at her unbelievably.

Park nodded with a hint of sadness to it.

“Mhm. Things would’ve been different if I wasn’t there, or if Bell shot first before Adler,”

Sims was repulsed by the fact that Adler was almost killed. He lost Lazar back in Cuba and he couldn’t afford to lose Adler; especially the fact all the hell they have been through in Vietnam. Adler was seen more as a brother figure to Sims with the close bond they had.

If it weren’t for her, both men would’ve died with no witnesses, or Adler would’ve been killed and Bell escapes.

“Sheesh, so much for liability,” He walked over and put his pointer and middle finger over his inner wrist. He was glad a pulse followed, but uncertainty still lingers if he could survive and get through this.

“Thank you,” Sims looked over her with a faint smile and spoke a few seconds later.

“Sims, I-“ Park found it wrong to be given thanks, even if she almost killed Adler and let both of them live in the worst approach possible.

”No. There’s no need to be sorry for what you did. Who knows what could’ve happened to both of them. Would’ve cost our team a big blow,”

The uncomfortable silence was building up as soon they watched them from their seats. It was like watching someone waiting for them to die, but oppositely; finding life in the bodies lying almost lifelessly on the stretchers.

It was soon lost once Hudson walked in after he heard the commotion in the room.

“What the fuck happened here?!” He stormed inside.

“This is what happened!” Park gestured angrily at him.

“Sims! Are you even a part of this?”

“It seems like now I am,” He stood up and crossed his arms.

Disgusted by the turn of events, Hudson asked who did it. Park stepped in and took in whatever he will say.

“Why? You know how dangerous Bell is!”

“And you don’t know the possibility of him almost killing Adler!”

Losing Adler would mean a lot to Hudson. Some ops were mostly reliant on him, including his amazing expertise and experience in combat.

“See? This is why having you and him in this is beyond outrageous!”

“Why? You were given the go-signal to have this a collaborative operation with my party,”

“Agent Park, you know that this op has always been collaborative, but having operators like you defying orders will lead you to nowhere!”

“My orders were in line with the Crown, and I must make ends meet in that regard, even if it comes to ending up this way,” she gestured again towards Adler and Bell.

“She’s right you know. We have orders that either favor one or both parties here. Remember East Berlin?” Sims said.

Hudson remembered. The capturing of Volkov favored MI6 mostly due to him being sent back to London for interrogation, in courtesy of Park. It was also her suggestion to capture rather than kill him for the sake of intel.

He also remembered the involvement of Greta from the BND. He didn’t know if she would’ve made it out alive without Bell not pissing Volkov off or the team tracking him down in time.

He huffed and sat down with them. Things got cooled down faster than what the two of them thought.

“If it means letting either be satisfied and fair, I would have to negotiate with the president himself.”

Park looked at him slightly wide-eyed. _Could this be it?_

“I would like to weigh in on that one with MI6 as well, if you may allow me,” She requested.

Hudson nodded at her statement but was taken aback later on as he had to decide between letting Bell be with her despite the orders from the White House of killing him. Speaking to the president would mean life or death to the team including Park herself.

“Sims, get White House on the line,”

“On it.”

Park was baffled at how easy it was to do this, but a few hours ago, there weren’t showing any signs of persistence from Hudson or Adler in letting Bell be in her custody. _Talk about decision making... Good job there Hudson,_ she sarcastically thought to herself.

Sims dialled and waited for someone to pick up. At this hour the time back in America would be around early in the morning, but the people would be up by now working. Someone managed to pick up the line and talk to him. It was Black.

“Hello, Sims here … Hudson would like to talk to you for a while … Okay hold on… Hudson, Black would like to talk to you,”

Hudson hesitatingly grabbed the phone. Park watched closely.

“Black? … I would like to arrange an agreement between us and MI6 … Yes … I would have to ask Agent Park … MI6 would be satisfied if we let our ends meet and reach an ultimatum … I know sir … It’s all for the greater good … Ok I’ll notify her … Thank you sir …”

He covered the receiver and motioned his head to let her know she would have to talk to the President.

“Hello,”

“Agent Park is whom I’m talking to at the moment isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It has come to my attention you would like to reach an ultimatum between the CIA and MI6?”

“I am if you may allow me so sir,”

“Let me get this straight to the point. You will let the asset be in your custody with the help of MI6? Do you know the gravity of the situation with your negotiation you are trying to appeal to us if you must ask yourself?”

“Yes. I am aware of the gravity of this situation that would mean the lives of everyone in the Free-World,”

“And if one messes up in the way of our joint-operations, if it relates to your negotiation, I will have to ask for termination of your service and tie up loose ends with the asset. Any business that matters to you and the asset should also be terminated. Have we come to an agreement?”

Park has two choices; just a yes or no. No middle ground for this one. One chance was given to her to let things be settled for either of the two intelligence agencies’ demands.

“We have come into an agreement. Thank you sir,” She smiled from the negotiation.

“I will let Black hand out the statement to MI6. Thank you for your service agent,”

Park handed the phone back to Hudson.

“… Yes sir … I will … “ He hung up soon after.

The negotiation went smoothly than he would’ve thought. He hated the feeling of being defeated by his subordinates, but he had to do it out of frustration that held Adler’s life on the line.

Getting that thought out of the way, he told her few last things.

“Your flight out of West Berlin will be in a week. From here, you will be transported with Sim’s help. Take everything you need and prove me wrong about the doubts I have said before,” Hudson disclosed.

Despite the doubts he said previously in the last ops, she will prove him wrong. “I will. Time will be our enemy here Hudson,”

* * *

Hours have passed and Park went back into the room where Adler and Bell were resting. She took note of the wound on Bell’s shoulder, still wrapped with blood staining through.

She flowed her hand over it and rubbed in a circular motion and Bell seemed to twitch from the touch.

“Bell?” Park spoke softly. She then studied his face. He was in pain. The twist of his face showed how much it hurt. A wound that was close to the neck is dangerous and would profusely bleed if not taken care of. 

She felt sorry for Bell for going through everything they have fought for, but she dwelled deeper in the thought of dying for what is right for the betterment of all. She was still surprised at how many occasions Bell survived and recovered fast. One was from Turkey, the other was from the interrogation, the op from Cuba, and lastly, here in the outskirts of Russia, by the hands of a man who thought he had no other choice but to obey.

“Park?” Bell coughed. He tried to lift himself, but Park told him to lay for a while longer and rest.

“Where...” He turned his head around slightly looking for other faces.

He then remembered what happened last time. He asked her while taking in the pain from the wound “Where’s Adler?”

“Right beside you. He’s still out cold.”

Bell looked at him and didn’t know he was still alive despite him shooting him a few milliseconds after he shot him. He then noticed the patch on his left leg.

“I didn’t shoot him there…” Bell confusingly said.

“I did it. If it weren’t from that, both of you wouldn’t be here by now,”

What Bell didn’t know was Park being there when the whole thing unraveled in his eyes. Being told that it wasn’t personal.

Park spoke. “I have negotiated with the president already while you and he are busy dozing off. You will be with me for now.”

Bell wasn’t able to comprehend what she meant by that.

“Bell, you’re off the hook from Adler now.”

He took it in and reflected upon himself. No words came out, but a sigh followed.

“Where does that leave me?” He asked.

Park can’t find the right words for Bell that he will be under watch by MI6 and her, but she bluntly stated, “I will have to watch you over and how things will progress under my agency,”

Bell had nothing else to say. He was still lightheaded from the loss of blood, but he grasped at the idea somehow.

“We will leave next week. Sims will help us on the way back to West Berlin and grab our gear from there. You should go rest more Bell,” Park encouraged him.

“Where to?”

“To London,” She faintly smiled. Park going back home to her country is something she yearned for. Being at a break and recover there will be a nice one and not the one they are in right now.

Bell nodded and looked up the ceiling before finally drifting off to sleep again. He felt optimistic that he will be working for MI6, but the recovery phase will not be an easy one.


	4. Journeys and Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bell, Park, and Sims are on their way back to West Berlin. Bell, still bewildered, is thinking about Park and how things will turn out back in London. Meanwhile, Adler wakes up and finds out that Bell is still alive, with Park and Sims, and there are some things he is not satisfied with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this chapter is a bit longer than what I wrote from the past chapters, and I think I'm proud of it, but I will still try to improve myself in writing the story and managing the flow of it!
> 
>  **CHAPTER WARNING:** Feelings of self-hate and suicide

“Are you ready?”Sims opened the helicopter’s door as he prepared the engine to warm-up.

Park nodded, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Seeing Bell recovering from the injury initially held him back, but as the hours passed, the pain was nullified, to an extent with his tolerance to it, and he was ready to go back.

It was nighttime and a good hour for the trio to be transported back to the safehouse in West Berlin. The sky was clear and beautiful not to be looked upon and take in the beauty of the stars. There was no light pollution in Kashkarantsy. The moonlight was all there is to light up the night.

Bell drew his arm out and waved as if he was drawing on the sky. He was smiling for a few seconds and took a breath.

“Bell, let’s go,” Park called, sitting on the bench in the helicopter.

Bell marched in and sat across. The helicopter began to fly and across the distance stood Hudson, waving at them safe travels. Sims waved back as thanks.

“We’ll be coming to a lot of stops since we’re avoiding the Union, I suggest y’all sleep or do whatever you have at your hands,” Sims informed while setting up the helicopter’s controls.

“How many times do you think we’ll stop?”Park emerged from the bench and grabbed something from her bag.

“Around 2 if we’re lucky enough to push this ‘til our longest one to Helsinki. The last one will be Stockholm and a home stretch back to the base,”

“Fair enough,” Park clambered back to the bench and lied down with a book and a clip-on lamp.

Bell watched Park adjust in her seat, ready in continuing the book she was reading back at the safehouse. 

Looking at the cover, it read ‘The Man in the High Castle’. Flags of the Japanese Empire and Nazi Germany dominated the cover. He was familiar with the premise of the story; an alternate reality in which the Axis won the Second World War. It was far out from the situation they are in the Cold War, but right now, they are playing the game and only one winner can be deemed victorious.

He didn’t want to interrupt her me-time as she was extremely focused on it. Not wanting to, he looked outside again down at the Russian countryside, or lack thereof of visibility due to the darkness. It was hard to look down, but across, he could see the full moon shining some mountains, blanketed with snow at their tips, in the distance.

The sound of the helicopter’s blade seeped through the cabin. The mixture was that of tranquility and discomfort, mainly due to the occasional turbulence that rocked the cabin interrupting his contemplation. It was a good time to reflect on his actions. 

He told the truth and saved Europe, but narrowly escaping death from the stakes of the game was something he couldn’t get off his mind.

Bell looked at Park and wondered, _Why did she even think of having me? They already knew what I was capable of._ He frowned from the thought and looked out again, but this time he felt uncomfortable.

The wound was still present and touched the bandage. _I should’ve been killed_. He gripped and felt the pain sting harder. He should’ve just asked Park or Sims to end his life before boarding the helicopter. 

He felt his worthlessness building up and asked himself why he was taken custody under Park, even though there’s nothing he can find within to be of good use of aside from being an associate to Perseus and be subjected back to torture for information like before.

Tears began to form from him thinking about it, knowing he might experience the same thing again, but he tried to hold it back in not make it obvious for Park, who was glancing from time to time.

She noticed the pained look on his face. “Something wrong Bell?” 

~~[Why?]~~ ~~~~

~~[Park, I…]~~ ~~~~

“Oh, i-it’s just the pain,” He stuttered, looking at his bandaged wound and encircling it.

She optimistically responded. “Don’t worry too much Bell, we’ll rest much further once we’re back in London. How about you sleep again, or maybe grab a book from my bag? There’s some you can read, and use if I was lucky enough to snatch the crosswords book from Hudson,”

“Alright,” Bell grabbed the bag and fumbled with it. He checked for any signs of the crosswords book Park was talking about and found it, along with a pencil case that had a pencil and eraser to go with it.

“Crosswords may be nice,” He said, intrigued while holding the book and pencil in his hands.

Lying down like Park, Bell went to work with it. In just an hour, he managed to finish at least five pages but left some for anyone willing enough to use it.

As he was about to put the book and pencil back in the bag, he saw Park, sleeping with her book, still clipped with the lamp on her chest. He could hear some occasional snoring, but he didn’t wake her up.

The ride was quiet, saved for a few times Park woke up asked if they were there yet, in which Sims would reply from time to time that they are still not there.

Over the course of it, Bell stood up and looked around the cabin and fiddled around with some stuff he can find. He found the old magazine that was related to ladies like his memory, or fake memory rather, back in Vietnam. It was published back in ’67 before Operation Fracture Jaw. _He really kept it huh?_ he grinned as he found the page he was looking at in the fake memory.

Settling it back to the shelf, another item caught his attention. It was a photo album. Inside it was polaroid photos of Sims himself back in the day. _Handsome man he was. Still has the groove on,_ he thought. He flipped through some pages, being delicate not to damage the films; some were his comrades doing shenanigans, his time back in America with his father and mother, and then his graduation day with his classmates.

The photos of Sims were interesting to look at. Bell himself was fond of photography, enriched further when he got holds of a camera that was given by Sims, as both a gift and a tool.

 _Go take care of this Bell, use it wisely. Oh yeah, keep it even. Heard you were a fan of film,_ he remembered his words.

He kept on flipping through the photos and until he paused and looked at one that instantly caught his attention. It was a photo of Adler, posing with his rifle, along with Sims and his other men in the group. He looked at his face that was filled with joy and valor. Entanglement began to form in his stomach, remembering how he was part of the MK-Ultra program and the torture that followed him, and him shooting him back at the cliffside. The memories began to flow back to him. He then remembered the words.

_Bell, we got a job to do_

_B_ _̴̖̑_ _e_ _̵̬̎_ _l_ _̴̢̒_ _l_ _̶̮̍_ _,_ _̸_ _̉_ _̰_ _̶͚͠_ _w_ _̶͍͑_ _e_ _̷̹̓_ _̸_ _́_ _̢_ _g_ _̷͕̒_ _o_ _̸̩͑_ _t_ _̷͍̊_ _̴̆_ _̣a_ _̸͇͊_ _̵͜͝_ _j_ _̷̠͆_ _o_ _̶̬͐_ _b_ _̶̯̔_ _̶̢̌_ _t_ _̸̙̔_ _o_ _̸͖͗_ _̴̳͠_ _d_ _̶̤̽_ _o_ _̷̘͆_

 _B_ _̶͂_ _̃_ _̧͐ͅ_ _e_ _̴̞̫͈͙̲͍̹̊̇̂̊_ _l_ _̶͚͈̑̎̿_ _l_ _̶̨̞͕͖̻̽̅͋̊̿̚͜_ _,_ _̷̛̺̯͍̫̳̻̈̌͐͊_ _̶̖̽̄̑͆͛ͅ_ _w_ _̶̺͂͐̇̄̍̊_ _̣_ _̥̩͓̟̯_ _e_ _̷̹̭̬͙̱͙̈́̈́̆̓_ _̴̅_ _̉_ _̰̈́̍͝_ _g_ _̷̹͖͍͖̝͕̞̋͒̇̕_ _o_ _̵̭̖̝̪̗̂̿̚͜_ _t_ _̸̟͆̅̈́̑_ _̣_ _̺_ _̶̈́_ _̀_ _̨̧͚̙̦͖̽_ _a_ _̶̨̡̱̩̤̖̒̌͛̑̔͝_ _̵̧̖̞̓̋̽̚_ _j_ _̴̙̌̊͌̓̒̐_ _o_ _̴̙̩̲̭̟͎̰̓_ _b_ _̸̍̅̂̎̚_ _̣̀_ _͇_ _̴̨̢̛͇̗̘͖̝̍̎̿̓͑͝_ _t_ _̶̒̊_ _̃_ _͛͌_ _̣_ _̡̢̫̲̖͔_ _o_ _̷̡̙̖̝̤̰̫̆̎_ _̴̦͕͖͔̯͒͆͜_ _d_ _̶̧̩̖̞͋̓̊͂̚_ _o_ _̸̓̊̎_ _̃_ _̨͇̰͊_

He closed the album with an audible flip. He started to sweat and breathed heavily as soon as the memory of him along with Park went back.

_No… not again!_

He returned the album in the overhead bin, promising himself not to open it again.

Sims looked back to check if everything was alright. He saw Bell standing aimlessly and noted him about their arrival, later on, to which Bell was jolted from when he heard his voice.

“Woah, chill. Still an hour and a half, but be ready,” He said.

Bell nodded in response. He looked back again at Park, who was already laying on her stomach. _Yep, still asleep_ _._

Sims is a great company for Bell. Before, Sims would tease Lazar on how much he likes Park from the very beginning and would join in, but now, Bell feels guilt when he’s around him, mostly due to Lazar’s death that could’ve been avoided if he grabbed him on time. Another incident that made matters worse for him was shooting Adler out of suspicion and reflex. He wanted to take that matter with him and settle it.

Sims noticed Bell sitting down next to him. “Hey Bell, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” He started, looking hesitant at first.

“For what?”

Bell felt his voice shaking, “I-I can’t really explain it that well,”

“Come on man, I’m all ears on you,” He encouraged.

Bell couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. He thought to himself why he wanted to engage in a serious conversation with him. He was revolted at first but gave in.

“It’s about Lazar,”

Sims nodded in response, wanting to take things slowly at first.

Looking away because of shame, he croaked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save him ok? I’m sorry,”

He couldn’t hold back the regret he kept from Sims for some time now, and now he felt the pressure going away gradually.

Sims gave a rub on his other shoulder. He never really thought Bell could be driven by emotions, but in the recent ops, he’s been through with him, telling his feelings is something he couldn’t help but appreciate due to the truthfulness to it.

He gave a reassuring look. “Bell if Lazar is here right now, I’m sure he will thank you. Not that you left him behind, but all the things that led up to what is it today. You telling the truth, and still holding on to this shit we’ve been going through,”

Bell still can’t take in the emboldening words, but hearing from Sims about Lazar and how we would be proud of his actions, shed some light on him about making the right choice for all.

“It was hard Bell, but seeing you telling the truth, saving the world and all that, made me think there’s something more that you’re going to find within that you’ll be glad that you had,” Sims nudged Bell's chest where, supposedly, his heart is.

“What about Adler? I almost killed him!” Bell exclaimed.

Sims looked at Park, who was, of course, still sleeping soundly. “That part, I could thank Park for that. Had it not because of her coming for you two, you guys would be long away from now,”

“What do you mean?”

“Both of you would’ve died. Shot at the same time, I heard. Then she told me she was in it. Shot him in the leg, then hell went through for the two of you. Had to bring y’all back there and patch you guys up,”

 ~~[You should’ve left me there. Took Adler, not me]~~ ~~~~

Bewildered, he asked. “Park was there?”

“Yeah. Followed her. She was worried about where you two went and the worry went to me as well,”

 ~~[Park was worried about me? That can’t be true,]~~ ~~~~

“Really?” He asked again.

“Yeah,” Sims nodded. He explained further how finding Bell and Adler was a not-so-pretty sight to look at and how he had to carry Adler in a way Bell giggled from imagining what it would look like. Bell for sure didn’t remember anything from that hour, apart from the pain that ran across his back from the fall after he was shot by Adler.

After a few minutes of chattering, he checked the coordinates, and they were minutes away until their first stop. “We’re getting close to the landing zone, be ready for a break,”

Park woke up just in time for the trio to have a stop-over. The journey, for Bell’s part, was cathartic. Being able to talk out to Sims about Lazar and Park’s, supposedly, worriedness has left a feeling of easiness from within, but looking back at Park, Bell’s initial thoughts on why she saved him still lingered, apart from the fact he was saved to be in the custody of MI6.

Sims saw the helipad and began to slow down and land the vehicle. Park stretched as she stood and hopped out. Bell soon followed her but kept a distance from her.

On arrival at their first stop, someone was approaching them. It was one of the mechanics from the base in Helsinki.

“Hudson told me you three were coming!” The man shouted, trying to compensate for the rotary blades slowing to a halt.

“Ah! Just stopping by for a rest and refuel!” Sims shouted back.

As the two were busy talking, Park headed towards the hanger and sat down on one of the seats stationed there.

She dropped the bag and grabbed the crosswords book from earlier. Flipping through the pages, she could only find a few pages left, so she closed the book and grabbed her novel that she was reading.

Bell roamed around the hanger for a few minutes as a form of exercise from the hours of sitting down on the bench.

Park watched Bell jog around. Being observant, she looked at his face, serious and focused.

She had trouble forming words in her mind about him, but could only think of the present and the plans she has for him to reestablish trust again. She resumed back to reading her novel, forming the plans in her head whilst reading it. _It’s going to be a long one for sure,_ she esteemed in her head.

* * *

Back at Kashkarantsy, Adler was sleeping. Mason and Woods were in charge of watching him if any emergency arises.

With time to spare, Mason brought out his deck of cards and waved it to Woods, signaling him to play. The moment he did, Woods stood up and brought himself a cigarette and ashtray, and a table. He positioned them at the end of the stretcher.

Mason looked at the positioning of the table and chairs and slyly grinned. “Huh, funny,”

“What’s so funny?” Woods replied.

“Looks like we’re playing the game as life and death, if you know what I mean,”

Woods chuckled. “Well, let’s hope if one of us is life, they win,”

The marine lit himself up a cigarette and offered one to Mason, but politely declined as he wasn’t in the mood for it. They started to play some poker silently, resisting not to swear and shout at each other, so the man on the stretcher won’t wake up.

Hours passed, and Adler opened his eyes and the blinding overhead fluorescent light greeted him. The buzzing sound annoyed him at first, but it was soon shoved away when he felt the pain in his chest and left leg.

He then remembered. He heard Park’s voice shouting for Sim’s help. _Sims was there too?_ he initially thought.

He also wondered; how in the world was he shot two times at the same time? He was sure Bell pointed, almost directly, at his face, but the shots that soon followed were indescribably impossible for him to do it twice, but the voice of Park that emerged from behind Bell said otherwise. 

_There was no way she shot me that easily,_ he raised himself from the stretcher that was reclined slightly.

The smell of tobacco dominated the room, he looked around and saw Mason and Woods, casually playing cards against each other at the end of the stretcher, right in front of him. Woods was losing by the look of his face, and Mason was slouching, smiling at him with confidence, but seeing Adler wake up and raising himself caught him off-guard and Woods waved at Mason to stop the game.

Nonchalantly, he looked at him, cigarette still in between his lips. “Oh, you’re awake now,” He took his last drag until he put it out. Adler frowned as he wanted to have it and not waste it, despite the state he is in right now.

“How long was I out?” Adler groaned while rubbing his face.

Woods cleaned up the table and set it aside, and returned the cards to his friend, “How about you walk outside and find that out yourself?” He snickered looking at his patched leg.

Adler growled from the joke, _Now’s not the time for joking around Woods._

Mason rolled his eyes and responded. “You were out for nearly a day,”

He looked at his watch and gave him the time. “It’s already past 12. We’ve been watching you over, checking if anything goes wrong while you were sleeping,”

Adler was creeped out. The two of watching him sleep for almost the whole day? It was something he wasn’t used to nor have experienced, but the circumstance was reasonable enough for him to be convinced they were watching him out of urgency if anything went wrong.

He looked at the vacant stretcher next to him that was covered in blood on the upper half. “Where’s Bell and Park? Sims also?”

“They left,” Woods replied.

Clenching his teeth and feeling defeated, he scowled “No… He’s still alive? That can’t be! I killed him back there!”

Mason, worried, intently said. “What happened back there almost killed you,”

As Adler was about to retaliate, Hudson went in the room, holding a folder that contained the dossiers of Park and Bell. “We need to talk,”

“Damn right we need to, where is he?” Adler said.

Hudson handed the folder. “While you were out, the CIA had an ultimatum with Park’s offering,”

“All orders, negotiations, and conditions were given by the President himself to Park,” He continued.

The documents had been written on, Park was on leave, while Bell was in custody. Certain parts of Bell’s profile were redacted that went along with the statement. Park on the other hand remained clean, although scarce from sensitive information.

Adler leaned back and closed the folder and sighed. He wasn’t sure why this whole thing had to happen. He thought to himself that he never should’ve carried out his monologue to Bell at the cliffside and went straight on killing him with no hesitation, but a part of him told him to give his final words, or so they were, to him as a means of closing the deal and act.

“What were them?” He asked while staring back at the blinding fluorescent light.

“Let Park take him under control and let him be of good use still, or settle the deal,” He said straight to the point.

 _Bullshit,_ he thought and turned away. Adler was always the type of person who would take orders and carry them out, but hearing that just made him feel even more annoyed at Park at her negotiations. 

Back at East Berlin, he took note of Park’s preference of capturing Volkov, but at the back of his head would always think Bell killing him out of the interest of cutting ties with Perseus. For Bell, he was conflicted in the warehouse while shooting at the armed men, hearing both Park and his callings of killing Volkov or letting him live.

The situation turned out to be different. He heard Park’s choice of capturing him and bringing him back to the UK at the safehouse and chose to adhere to Park’s request. Park triumphantly turned to his face, knowing Bell listened to her.

He looked back at Hudson and asked. “Where are they now?”

Hudson adjusted his aviators, “They arrived at Helsinki just right now. From there, they will continue to Stockholm and back to West Berlin. Sims will take hold of the safehouse there and wait for us to return with added transport from Finland, while Park and Bell will catch a flight and return to London. After we patch ourselves up, it’s back to work,” he told the three men.

“We’ll leave at dawn,” He added.

After the session of explaining, Mason returned the table outside and settled the building, closing and disconnecting every line possible, while Woods packed up their gear. Adler had no other choice but to lie back down and rest further before leaving Kashkarantsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments and kudos! Additional feedback and comments will help me further in writing the story!


	5. Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio arrives in West Berlin and makes their final decisions. Bell savors his last moments in the safehouse before heading to London, yet someone still can't leave his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy reading!
> 
>  **CHAPTER WARNING:** PTSD episode

**Maxim "Bell" Golubev, Unknown  
** **52.5200 N, 13.4050 E, West Berlin  
** **March 16, 1981**

* * *

After the long restless trips from Helsinki to Stockholm, and from the latter to West Germany, they finally arrived in West Berlin with no problem. The black car, previously used in Lubyanka, was used to drive to the safehouse, with Park being the driver to let Sims rest.

West Berlin didn’t change that much. Everything was still as familiar to him as to how he arrived the first time. People were walking in the early morning going to work. Some were drunk from last night's hangout. Several stores were about to open. It was a regular day.

As they arrived at the familiar street, they parked the car along the kerb and got out. Walking towards the safehouse, they saw the metal gate, covered in graffiti.

Park lightly scratched the metal surface. “Strange, I don’t remember this being vandalized,”

“Well, looks like they made it much less obvious for outsiders now,” Sims peered beside her, helping to open the gate.

They entered and turned on the lights. Everything seemed to be in place, even after they went to Solovetsky.

Sims fumbled around to look for the keys and unlocked the private workroom, “We have all the time for you two to snoop around and get everything you need,”

Park went to the workstation and collected her documents and intel. Bell took a step back, taking in the sight of the safehouse, absent from other people. It felt better not being around Adler for once, but he stayed alert, watching Park’s actions.

The evidence board was still in its same state. Bell approached and stared at the pinned pictures.

Perseus was still the center of attention; the man that influenced his alliance, which Bell switched sides to out of his will. He looked at the other photos, some were crossed out. One of these was Aldrich’s which was further written over, probably by Hudson judging from the handwriting.

“Bell,” Park called.

Bell looked over and saw what she was holding.

“I believe this belongs to you,” She walked towards him, handing out the object.

It was his camera, still in good condition with little to no scratches. He left the camera when they went to Cuba, and he was in awe it was still pristine.

Bell reached out his arm. “Oh, thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” She returned. Park went back to finding any more items she can bring.

The camera still had film, albeit a little less than before. He enjoyed using it, taking candid photos of some of his teammates during his free time in the safehouse, and holding it again made him feel excited. Of course, he had to use it for work, but he has thought of the pictures he can take in London if he had time.

Examining the drawer had him found some old pictures he took. Others were a photo of the Spetsnaz base in Ukraine, Kraus, and other pieces of evidence that helped tracking down suspects.

He felt himself smile as he grabbed a photo that was covered by the others. It was a picture of Mason and Woods.

He took the photo of them after the briefing about Cuba. The excitement of hearing their stories and meeting the two operatives in person is something Bell can’t take control of anymore, so he settled it with a photo with the cherry on top written by Woods himself.

The memories of the nice conversations reminisced in him. He sure does miss the two of them.

He placed his camera in his bag and looked around the safehouse much further. The golden hour was just beginning to show, which made everyone relaxed to start the day packing up.

“Man, I’m starving! Thinking of getting the usual down the block,” Sims said across the room, checking his toolbox for missing items.

Park turned to him. “Oh, Chinese take-out? I’ll have the sweet and sour fish,”

“And you, Bell?” Sims asked.

Bell pondered for a second. “I’ll try something different for now. Anything else you liked from theirs?” 

Sims raised an eyebrow, knowing Bell might like it. “How about what Lazar used to love? Some pork dumplings?”

“Sure,” He appealingly said.

As Sims was about to leave the premises, Park managed to get hold of the intel regarding Perseus’ connections, including Volkov’s.

“A personal tour is what you’re planning for him?” Bell looked at the documents.

Delighted, she mused. “That’s right. Unfortunately for him, his first landmark will be Century House,”

The picture of the arms-dealer was clipped along with the photos of Kraus and the nuclear bomb.

“I’m proud of you Bell,” She stated gladly.

“For what?” he was taken aback by the statement suddenly.

Park gave a firm, but gentle shake to his uninjured shoulder, “For what you have done to literally shift the balance of the war. Not only you’ve done something for his team, but to my team as well,” she smiled.

Bell gave a timorous look to her. She hopefully uttered. “You’re more than to what Adler or Hudson thinks, Bell. I’m sure of it,”

 ~~[But I’m just an asset! A replaceable and forgettable asset! I’m a loose end you should’ve tied long ago!]~~ ~~~~

Eliminating the indecisiveness that is still attached to him is something Park won’t come across as easy to just throw out of the window, but she wanted to let Bell believe in himself.

“Bell, we- “ _have a job to do._ Her voice hitched and suddenly stopped. She almost said the trigger phrase that would’ve caused Bell to remember the torture; the hell and trauma he went through. _No Park. That’s not how it should be._

“- we will prove them wrong,” She continued, no sign of messing up.

He looked up to her, doubt still covering his face.

“How?” How muttered.

To Park, it should be simple to say that they will see, but she didn’t want to let Bell think about the simplicity of it.

“Time will tell, Bell. Trust me,” She firmly stated, giving him another smile and gentle shake, although her mind said it’s cliché.

 ~~[How can I trust you?]~~ ~~~~

He looked up to her. “I don’t want to put too much trust on someone right now. I hope you can understand,” his voice filled with concern.

Park considered it. She, too, had put trust in someone before, but her naiveté soon followed and left her almost dead. Bell put his trust in the team, but in the end, he was meant to be killed, only to escape from the hands of death by the second because of her. Despite the conditions, she wanted to let Bell know he could trust her.

“I’ll take what it is right now, Bell,” She expressed, steadily taking her hand off his shoulder.

Their conversation was interrupted with the sound of the walkie-talkie radio going off. Park approached and grabbed it. Bell could barely tell whose voice was it.

“Sims are you there?” The static voice transmitted.

“This is Park. He went out for breakfast,” she replied.

A sigh came from the other end.

“Can you tell him we just arrived in Helsinki? We’ll be back in West Berlin by late evening. Transpo needs switching for aerial support to other nations,”

Park answered. “Will carry on,”

Knowing they arrived in the safehouse, he added, “Remember, Park…”

“There’s no need to remind me a thousand times,” She interpreted it as the agreement made the day before.

She put down the radio and returned to Bell.

“What was that call about?” He asked exactly the way he asked Adler a month ago.

Park answered honestly. “Just Hudson being suspicious about you again, but I doubt that will go off the charts given that we had the negotiation,”

Bell was astonished. He never thought she could get to tell him what it was about. Adler would hide the details and steer him away from the conversation.

Stretching her arms, she said. “We should pack more stuff while Sims is out,” 

Complying, he searched for other things he can find. He took note of the enlarger at the desk, and dismantled it to its pieces, carefully putting them aside neatly.

“Could you check the darkroom for my safelight? I believe it has my name on it to not mix it up with Sims’” She raised herself, closing the drawers.

He went into the darkroom and grabbed the other equipment important to her, setting it down at the desk near him. Then he heard.

_Clang_

The television turned on. Images of tanks, war, and soldiers rapidly flashing before his eyes. The eeriness of the room growing.

He slowly looked and the sensation of the memories came flooding back; chest tightening, breath heaving. He felt his knees weakening as he gripped the sink, trying to catch his breath, but the television kept going. The static increases in volume.

Catching his breath, he looked around; he was back in the surgery room, on the stretcher, strapped.

_W_ _̶̨̛͚̌͆͛͠͠_ _e_ _̸͍̝̪͈̤̽_ _̵̳̦̽̊͋̆̓̿_ _a_ _̸̨̞͙̳͎̱͒̈͛͘̚͝_ _r_ _̷̢̙̾̓̇̓_ _e_ _̷̛̓̽̕_ _́_ _͐_ _̀_ _̕_ _̣_ _̷̊̑͋̈́̚͠_ _́_ _̢̠̙̖̘̜̫͉̱_ _n_ _̸̨̿̈́̎̎͌̚͝_ _o_ _̶̙̰̖͉̤̬̭̐ͅ_ _t_ _̷̧̧̢̺̭͕̺̭̑_ _̵̌̓̊͒̽_ _̣_ _̨̫͈̭̜̩̜̮_ _l_ _̷͗_ _́_ _̧̛̮̳͙̳͖͒̓̿̑_ _e_ _̶̡̙̿͌͒̍͘͘_ _a_ _̶̢̛̘̻̖̰͗̓͊͋̋͌̓ͅ_ _v_ _̵̡̥̖̔̒̐̈́̽̕͠_ _i_ _̵̹̙̤̥͎͓͙̪̻͑̐̋͑̐̈́̾͑͠_ _n_ _̵͒_ _̣_ _̫͓̙_ _g_ _̶_ _̃_ _̰̭̝̮̙͍͜͝_ _̴̥͠_ _e_ _̷_ _́_ _͑̎̄_ _̀_ _̞͈͓͎͕̬̇̔͝_ _m_ _̴̹̺͈̊̊͒̓͠_ _p_ _̷̢̢̟̥͕̅̈́͑͗̐̏͋͠_ _t_ _̷̌͒̄̒͝_ _̃_ _̡͍̦̓̔_ _y_ _̶͙̄_ _-_ _̶͖͓̼̼̯͈͛̈́_ _h_ _̷_ _̀_ _̨̧̛̜͆͆͌̊͝_ _a_ _̵̛̳̫̘͓͍̑̔̅̿̑̈́̍_ _n_ _̵̨̼̗̫̙͙̩̠̞̔͑͛_ _d_ _̷̰̩̝͓̎͐_ _e_ _̶̜̯͉͕͂͜_ _d_ _̷̫̙̲̲͓̘̆͂͋͛_ _._ _̶̎̍_ _́_ _͂_ _̀_ _̨̧͍̿̈́̚_ _̶_ _̃_ _̛̮̾̈́̏͝_ _S_ _̵̍̈́_ _̉_ _̢̮̘̒͛̊͆͆_ _c_ _̶̯̒͌̐͒_ _r_ _̸̡̯̱̰͓͔̘͂̓_ _i_ _̵̍͐_ _̀_ _͍̲͉͙̮_ _p_ _̸̛͗̈́_ _̃_ _͎͍͓̒̾_ _t_ _̵_ _̃_ _̨̥̲̳̭͔̋͌͊͠_ _̷̡̟̫͖͓̹̤̊̏͋͘̕͜_ _1_ _̷̥̲̲͔̯̼̄̐͒_ _7_ _̷̪͔̱̈́͊͆_ _̣_ _̲_ _._ _̵̨͓͍̦̙͚̼͎̐͊͑̋̊̕ͅ_ ͓̹̜̗͜

_No! No please don’t!_

He heard Adler’s voice, now close to his ear.

_B_ _̶͂_ _̃_ _̧͐ͅ_ _e_ _̴̞̫͈͙̲͍̹̊̇̂̊_ _l_ _̶͚͈̑̎̿_ _l_ _̶̨̞͕͖̻̽̅͋̊̿̚͜_ _,_ _̷̛̺̯͍̫̳̻̈̌͐͊_ _̶̖̽̄̑͆͛ͅ_ _w_ _̶̺͂͐̇̄̍̊_ _̣_ _̥̩͓̟̯_ _e_ _̷̹̭̬͙̱͙̈́̈́̆̓_ _̴̅_ _̉_ _̰̈́̍͝_ _g_ _̷̹͖͍͖̝͕̞̋͒̇̕_ _o_ _̵̭̖̝̪̗̂̿̚͜_ _t_ _̸̟͆̅̈́̑_ _̣_ _̺_ _̶̈́_ _̀_ _̨̧͚̙̦͖̽_ _a_ _̶̨̡̱̩̤̖̒̌͛̑̔͝_ _̵̧̖̞̓̋̽̚_ _j_ _̴̙̌̊͌̓̒̐_ _o_ _̴̙̩̲̭̟͎̰̓_ _b_ _̸̍̅̂̎̚_ _̣̀_ _͇_ _̴̨̢̛͇̗̘͖̝̍̎̿̓͑͝_ _t_ _̶̒̊_ _̃_ _͛͌_ _̣_ _̡̢̫̲̖͔_ _o_ _̷̡̙̖̝̤̰̫̆̎_ _̴̦͕͖͔̯͒͆͜_ _d_ _̶̧̩̖̞͋̓̊͂̚_ _o_ _̸̓̊̎_ _̃_ _̨͇̰͊_

His world was switching realities, getting lost to what is real and false. He got his grip back on the sink and looked up to the mirror, now shattered. Broken images of the man were by his side, hand on the bandaged shoulder.

_Stay away from me!_

He turned back and flailed his arms, trying to push him away, but no one was there.

“Bell!” A voice came to him. He opened his eyes, and everything was back to normal in a split second. Park was behind him, shaking him back to reality.

Sobbing, he clutched her tightly. She almost tripped from the act, but got her stance and stood firmly. Park was lost in his arms since he was a little taller than her by an inch.

He was scared, shaking in her hold. “I’m here, Bell,” she carefully rubbed her hand against the leather jacket of his.

The darkroom held both good and bad memories. Good for him because he interacted with her and managed to get to know her and the team a little better, bad because of the atmosphere that resembled that of the interrogation room he was in after he was salvaged from the airstrip and the occasional reminders of the brainwashing as seen by the television, but the bad ones outweighed the good.

“I’m sorry!” He said shamefully, face buried, still weeping.

She was presented to the current state of Bell. She did this to him, and now, she felt remorseful for the man, who’s broken, and lost.

Still clinging to her, she embraced back. “There’s no need to be…” She told. _I should be the one who needs to be_ _sorry_ , she continued in her thought.

Park let his tears flow, and embraced him further, letting him know she’s here.

They heard footsteps. It was Sims, holding their breakfast, face saddened from the look of Bell crying on her shoulder.

He didn’t speak. He let Bell let it all out onto her. Sincerely, he handed out their food. She thanked him, “It’s okay Sims. Just put it on the table,”

He gave Bell a rub on his back sympathetically. He, too, was involved in this whole thing. Nodding to her, he walked back outside the room and ate.

“Come on Bell, let’s eat,” Park cheered him up.

Sniffling, Bell nodded. He held her forearm, but not too close to where her bandaged wound was, and walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> polaroid shot of Woods and Mason is made by me! ([helenpxrk](https://helenpxrk.tumblr.com/) in tumblr)


	6. Cherishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what happened in the darkroom, Sims and Park find ways to understand Bell better. With a new op on the way, the pair must trust one another to get back on track. Bell on the other hand is having second thoughts about his involvement with them, and Park tries to reassure and consolidate with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this chapter isn't long enough, but I had to reconsider if I should combine the next chapter into this, but I figured it's best to leave the next part in the next chapter!

Walking out of the darkroom felt like going out of one’s nightmare, but the terrors kept reminding him, coming back to him. A long battle that will leave him feeling more ambivalent and disoriented.

A battle that he's been fighting from the beginning from within, but he was struggling. Park frankly found herself in it, trying to keep him going, but her mind would fight with her thoughts on why she is pushing him to defeat the actions she and Adler caused to him with her help.

It was more of an inconsistent mindset of hers that is both _‘they will be alright; they will overcome it’_ and a _‘they need help; my help rather’_

The thought of it disturbs her decisions. It made her much more reflective of her actions and the consequences that followed. What exacerbated the situation more is the sheer amount of triggers that she needs to take note of and train herself.

They settled down at the table. She gave him his box and chopsticks. Surprisingly, he’s good at it. Every time the group would eat together, Sims, Lazar, and Bell were seen to be the one’s adept at the use of them. She would have to get the spoons from the counters for herself and Adler’s. Woods and Mason, on the other hand, would think of the two to use them as well, given their experience in Vietnam.

 _Bond seems to be the one that’s what made him_ , she thought while eating, looking at the two men across, side by side, having their small talk.

Sims handed out a packet that seemed to be the sour sauce. “Want some?”

Bell nodded. He reached out his hand, claiming it, and smeared the sauce on his food.

“They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” The man told, and took another spoonful of his own.

After taking a bite with the sauce, he savored it. “You’re quite right over there if I must say,”

Bell, still mending from the incident earlier, hummed. The food made him feel a little better, especially after adding the condiment.

Park remained quiet, looking down at her food, continuing to eat. She had her fair share of alone time before with herself in her workstation when she eats sometimes, but seeing the two, a friendly aura resonated with her, making her not leave.

Turning towards them, she picked up. “How about a woman, hm?”

“I don’t know about that, but I guess they have to go through a lot before coming to it,”

She didn’t quite get it. Bell on the other hand smiled, making her more confused.

“What?” She inquisitively said, holding her food-filled spoon.

Sims awkwardly laughed at her confusion. “Ain’t your humour like that though?”

“Well, I think you did a terrible job at it Sims,” She rolled her eyes, giving him a dissatisfied click.

Annoyed, she changed the subject, a more serious one. “Hudson said our documents should be here?”

She revealed a binder from below and placed it on the table. Opening it, they were greeted with pages that contained dossiers of the team. Sims flipped the pages until it stopped on hers and Bell.

“You bet. Had another set of copies right here,” He slipped in.

Impressed from the time it took, she opened one of the rings. “Just transmitted this morning? How convenient,”

“Man’s always ahead of time,” Sims remarked, going back to his box.

She gave the thick binder to Bell, letting him examine.

Bell darted his eyes on the information given. A lot of them are intel from the previous operations. Some of them were redacted, including the dossiers that included that of the team except for Park and Bell.

The pair seemed to be clean for now, except Bell’s, whose information was kept classified with plentiful of black markers striking through the details. He reviewed it further, taking note of the current state of the papers neatly bound.

He was about to resume eating when he was interrupted yet again.

This time, it’s a folder. Papers were extruding the top part. Accompanying it were travel documents that seek approval for leaving East Germany.

“These are our tickets right?”

Park nodded, “We seem to be lucky enough to have our seats reserved and located at the back. Don’t want to attract unwanted attention when it comes to us discussing further what will happen once we arrive in London,”

Bell, confused, thought of it the other way around. Sitting at the back just seemed too obvious for people to notice what kind of business they will be doing or talking about. “I thought it will be the opposite,”

Sims shook his head. “There will be someone on that plane waiting for you. Most likely from MI6 or CIA,”

“Why would an informant of ours wait for us in a place where how many people will board?” Bell inquired.

“It’s much less obvious if you think about it much deeper, Bell,” Park said.

“The whole thing about meeting your informant on an airplane? That seems odd,” Bell reckoned, not believing what Park relayed earlier.

“Our informant will not talk to us, given that there will be people sitting with us. We’ll have to rely on our body language as a means of communication throughout the flight,” She added.

Sims, still eating, informed. “They will also be informing MI6 of your arrival, seems enough if I must say,”

Bell, settling his box down, questioned. “What do we know about this informant?”

Park wiped off the bits of food left on her face. “According to Hudson, our informant will be wearing a beige trench coat. Looks-wise, a brunette,” 

Bell wasn’t giving in the details as they were scarce and generalised. Anyone could be wearing that and have the same hair colour.

He asked more, leaning a bit further. “Any more details like where they will be sitting? Or maybe even a distinct attribute rather?”

“They will be situated around 2-3 rows ahead of us. Our seats might provide good visuals on them. As for the attribute, they will be carrying a pocket watch. Perhaps looking for the chain might be a good idea,” Park described.

“How about their name?”

She answered by handing him a tiny booklet that came with the folder. Skimming through the pages, he found who he was looking for.

_Matilda Cohen. British citizen. MI6._

That was all of what was printed and given on the page. Everything else was redacted with the black markers. A highly valuable informant is what Bell assumed.

A picture was presented along with it. In terms of facial features, the woman looked older than Park but seemed younger than Woods and Mason. He guessed she should be around in her late 30s to early 40s.

Without saying a word, Bell handed back the booklet and folder, which Park promptly closed.

“We have around a few days left; 3 to be exact. I say we should keep packing stuff and double-checking and rest after. Our minds need to be sharp. Staying at the airport for around 2 days isn’t that long enough, especially since a lot of people will be going in and out of West Berlin, so I guess we have our time at our disposal, so as long as we don’t venture farther from the gates,” Park conveyed.

“I’ll prepare our ride as early as now,” Sims set his box down on the table, rising from the chair.

She interjected, “Please don’t overwork yourself. I need you in good shape you know?”

He raised his hand and gestured. “Alright. But I’ll put the bags in the trunk if you find some ready to go,”

With everything out of the way, the trio began to go back to doing their business in preparing for the pair's flight.

Park kept an eye on Bell, checking if he’s doing ok. The food from earlier comforted him well, and she took note of it.

Going back to the darkroom, she retrieved her safelight Bell left after the incident earlier. She then unclipped the films of the previous operation in Lubyanka and elsewhere. The television that Bell looked at was shut off, but for him, it can be turned on out of nowhere when he’s near it, so she put a blanket over it.

 _There. That should do,_ Park huffed, looking back at it, neatly covered.

She then realized it’s not enough. They could come across many of them, and Bell will still remember.

Sighing, she carried the light out, putting it on the desk and folding it.

Bell was packing more items, personal items rather. There had been a lot of souvenirs he acquired during the past few ops. The possessions he treasured the most were the postcards that had different landmarks from the countries they worked in.

No wonder he loves his camera so much. He treated it like it was a part of him. A friend, in a way.

Park approached Sims and whispered. “How much does Bell love his camera?”

“More than anything. I mean, look at the picture of the two,” Sims quietly referenced Mason and Woods, with Bell still looking at the picture of the two.

Watching Bell, she added. “Supposed you think memories like those may be beneficial for his well-being?”

“If it makes him feel better about himself, I’d say so,” He said.

Memories. It’s something Park took for granted. Forcefully implanting false memories into Bell has led to him being perplexed by his true experiences in life. Making memories, however, seemed to be an interesting take on how it can affect his state later on, given the experiences he had with his fellow operators, like herself.

Intrigued, she went back to the safelight, thinking further. Opening the bag, she organised her belongings, properly arranging them to their easiness of reach.

Several clothes and toiletries were packed for light travel. Park folded her leather jacket and settled it on top of the jeans.

Bell has his own set of clothes, mainly casual wear and the like for his needs. He, too, may have packed like her. The other bag next to his contained the equipment and personal belongings of his.

She carried her bag and placed it beside his satisfyingly. “Looks like I’m ready,”

“That plenty?” He asked quizzically.

“I have more back home. Don’t want to risk bringing them here and forgetting you know,”

“Ah. Good point,”

Sims worked on fixing the car, checking for any faults. So far, despite the absence of the group, nothing came up to his surprise. He thought some individuals are crazy enough to steal or damage some parts of it. He parked it on the alleyway making it less suspicious, away from prying eyes.

“I’ll be heading outside if you need me,” She said, grabbing a cigarette and a lighter from her jacket’s pocket.

He nodded. Park walked to the back door and went outside. Bell suspects it leads to the back compound, adjacent to abandoned apartments and warehouses where businesses once thrived.

He was left standing on the open yet again like a dog waiting for its master’s commands, wondering what to do.

Bell grabbed a chair and turned on the fan. Sims, who was still working on the engine, caught his presence. He was staring intently at his expertise.

“Got anything else to do other than looking at me with those puppy eyes?” Sims queried, bolting one of the components of the engine.

There was nothing else to do other than packing the bags. Books that were left unread weeks ago were on the shelves across, but he wasn’t interested in the plot. He shook his head wistfully.

“How about you go to Park and talk about anything that’s in your mind?”

Bell paused. What else can he talk about to her other than the informant a while ago? Her life in London? No, that may be too personal. Work-life in MI6? Maybe, but he may get too overwhelmed with it.

“I don’t have anything in my mind right now, honestly,” He stated.

Sims kept his focus on the engine, “Well, aren’t you excited to work with her now? Plenty of nice things you can have from the Crown. Heck, much better than what you get from the CIA if you’re asking me,” Sims tried to encourage but to no avail.

“Well, kind of. I still don’t know what my contributions will be aside from what I have done for the team before,” Bell looked down.

“Your cryptography skills are clearly remarkable if I must say. Decrypted more than everyone has,”

“Anything else that may cheer up this man?” Bell asked lazily, crossing his legs.

“You saved half the world, but we’re not near the end of the line yet,”

He fidgeted with his fingers, thinking about it. He had little pride when he saved Europe, given he was on the enemy’s side, but there’s no going back now.

“Do you think Park or Adler cared about me?”

Sims was finished tinkering. “About all this? One hundred fucking percent. You sure blew their expectations away. As for the other, it’s in themselves,”

 _What did he mean about the ‘other’?_ he thought.

“Park’s lucky to have you on board. Getting yourself a new team too once you go to it,” Sims added.

A new team? Bell thought.

“Like a new one? Away from this?”

“Yeah, but don’t get yourself too comfortable,”

“Right…”

He had to remind himself persistently that this operation is joint, and not only for himself.

Sims clicked his tongue, annoyed by losing a bolt. “Shit, almost had it. I think Park is right about me needing my mind sharp,”

He kept the hood in its current position and tiredly walked to Bell.

Sighing and motioning his head on one of the rooms. “I’ll be resting over there,”

He walked into one of the bedrooms, ready for a long shut-eye from the journey, even though it’s barely 7 A.M.

With him being left alone again, Bell looked at the door that leads to the back compound. Lost in his thoughts, he decided to go out.

As he went through the corridors, the cold breeze greeted him steadily. West Berlin during these hours always made him love the cold, despite him wearing a jacket and denim pants that barely warmed his body.

Once outside, Park was seen reading the same novel from earlier, cigarette in between her fingers, leaning against the building’s brick wall.

“Bell,” she acknowledged, hardly nodding her head entirely.

He squatted next to her, dubious what to say. A few minutes passed with Park reading, occasionally exchanging glances in between.

She started. “So, any leads back from Solovetsky?”

“We managed to destroy the base. Perseus and his Operation Greenlight was aborted minutes after,”

Park hummed. “You know Bell, we’re not done with everything. Who knows who this Perseus is and what secrets he’s hiding? I’m sure you met him already,”

Engrossed, he looked at her, “I did already,” Bell adjusted his weight. “Much older now than what the picture had offered,”

“Man of his league, and words, dare I say,” The man added. “Loved his country dearest,”

“And his followers, or loyalists if I’d describe, are not running out nor showing themselves,” She puffed a smoke.

Darkened from the thoughts, Park told. “Some of them may be working among us too,”

“Cold-war paranoia huh?” Bell looked at her closely.

Hesitatingly, she nodded. “We can’t afford further losses. Not without our rationality speaking to us on who to trust,”

Bell, distraught from it, finally broke. “Then why have me here?”

_Oh no…_

Running out on what would fit the words, she genuinely said, “Because I believe in you,”

“Believe in what way? Please tell me,” His voice was hoarse, desperate for an answer.

“In many ways that I can’t count them all. Bell, nobody else in this team has ever believed and trusted in you more than I do,”

 _Park, that sounds selfish of you. Adler might’ve been too you know_ , she protested within.

She added further. “You’re the key that fits every hole we always come across. Nobody, had I ever met in my eyes, in this line of work, has been like that,”

“The feeling of pushing further to the goal, no matter the cost, has always pushed us out of our comfort zone in ways never before,”

“You’re gifted with those, Bell,” She finalised.

He retaliated, almost crying. “Gifted in the wrong way!”

Caught off-guard, Park reasoned. “It’s not how it is now, Bell,”

She then finally opened up. “Seeing you, a while ago, made me realized I’ve done a lot to you. More than how much I would’ve thought. I tried to keep telling myself you’ll get through this, but now, I need to take the fault and make it up to you. I want to help you. I owe you remember?”

Without a qualm, she squatted, meeting Bell, who was tearing up from his helplessness.

“I don’t know any more Park. I don’t know if I can do this,”

“I’ll guide you through it. We must,”

She gave him a few minutes of his time. Afterwards, Park reached out to him. Bell grabbed her arm, standing up, giving in with her help.

“We’ll get through this Bell. I believe in you,” She said one more time in his eyes with perseverance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Some comments are appreciated though!


	7. Holding Grudges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Helsinki, Mason thought of the times he wasn't there for Bell. Later on, a convergence uncalled for happened, or that's how Park perceived it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter ahead!
> 
> Enjoy reading! 
> 
> **CHAPTER WARNING:** Period-Typical perceived Homophobia

**60.1699° N, 24.9384° E, Helsinki  
March 16, 1981  
**

* * *

It’s a sunny afternoon, and the hangar on the base they are in Helsinki was bustling. Several commanding officers and sergeants were conducting hourly routines of exercise while some engineers were carrying out their safety and structural checks on the numerous aerial vehicles ranging from helicopters to UAVs. A lot of military tanks and jeeps zoomed about and many fighter jets took off.

Hudson is currently having a chat in the distance with one of the operatives of SUPO; relaying information and coordinating with them about what happened in Solovetsky. Helsinki, being quite close to the monastery, or the USSR overall, has made the man get up on his knees and go swiftly to the operatives and officers and give out intel about their last operation a day ago.

For Alex, it’s his conventional day like in any other base around the world. For Frank, he thought of it as specs of adrenaline rush blown onto his face, gently making him pumped up, ready for another op.

“Can’t wait ‘til we see the look on man’s face when he sees us runnin’ around all day,” Frank alluded, happily handing him their lunch, glancing at the sleeping man after.

Alex playfully nudged him, resisting the impulsiveness of following the commands of the sergeants, “We’re on break remember? Let’s have our free-time for once,”

The marine sat next to the operative, watching the afternoon unfold in their eyes. Adler, awfully tired, was sitting by himself a few feet across, taking a nap from the ride, legs crossed, wounded leg on top of the uninjured.

Shouts of the staff sergeants resonated in the building, and the two watched the platoon warm-up. Frank was keenly interested and stared at one guy, who was still sleepy, taking micro-sleeps. He cracked a suppressed laugh at the man, whom the sergeant made him drop and do push-ups when he got caught.

Bittersweet from the experience he had, Alex expressed, “Poor man,”

“Poor man indeed,”

Adler, noticeably in the vicinity of the platoon, isn’t showing any signs of disturbance. He flinched but continued sleeping.

“Such a heavy sleeper,” Frank pathetically mumbled, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“For a green beret, I don’t believe he’s that self-absorbed in his beauty sleep. Would’ve banged a pot on top of him right after,” He added, giving Alex a smug grin.

Alex snickered, almost choking in his drink, “No way you’re going to,” He unbelievably said.

“Oh hell yeah I am. Bastard got that façade I’m willing to tear all down,” 

The men laughed. Alex knew what he meant. It pinched something in him that he’s been waiting to let out to Frank.

“Façade huh?” He followed, looking down at the concrete floor.

Adler, for them, seemed too deep and lost in himself; always checking in on everyone, knowing what they’re doing, and it’s not the type that he’s worried about; it’s more of a spying and meddling approach. With every strategy he has under his sleeves, it was always on the hardline. So much, it had them no other choice but to go with it. And what he did to Bell…

His smile fell after and slowly paused in his position. Frank kept talking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He let the man beside him say his words out and say a _‘yeah’_ after.

He remembered what happened after Cuba; Bell strapped on the stretcher, indistinguishable chattering from Park and Sims; everything was still lucid to him. Adler had to lock the door, so no one intervened on what they were about to do with him, but no one else was there, aside from the two of them and Hudson.

_Does Adler even know what he’s doing?_

_Does he know the damage he’s inflicting on Bell?_

He heard the groans, cries, and screams. It sent him back in Vorkuta, but only through the sparks of it. The painful memories and experiences he’s been through, the torture and nightmares that left mental scars for years, made him irritated for a second. 

Rehabilitating from them seemed to work from months to years. Taking medications and meeting the therapist back and forth before going back to work made him be built again from the ground up. Even though he could still remember the numbers, it’s not as extremely vivid as it was before.

Speaking of vivid memories, seeing Bell go through the same process created another version of himself. A version of himself experiencing yet again, except he was watching it on someone else, with no help going to him as it wasn’t done out of spite, but rather by motives, and he was taking part of it. He felt powerless, but there was nothing else he could do. It was all they could do for the best of the team.

Just watching Bell shake uncontrollably, crying profusely from the pain from the injuries from the op, with the supplemented interrogation methods, made him more agitated to burst in the room to stop what they were doing, but Hudson had to hold him back.

With Frank by his side, he felt comfort from the man whom he knew would feel and understand if he was troubled. For Bell, who’s there to comfort him? 

Lost in his mind, he flicked some crumbs away from the wrapper, still not listening to the blabbering of the man beside him, _Park taking the wheel? I wish her luck on that,_ he thought.

 _Unless he goes to therapy as I did. Would be kind of Park to find him one from MI6,_ he continued, motioning his head in an agreeing manner.

* * *

**West Berlin, East Germany  
March 14, 1981**

* * *

_“Injecting directly into the brain could provoke seizures or worse!”_ He coarsely heard Park’s voice through the thin metal door.

Mason squared up at Hudson, a mix of anger and worry present in his voice. _"What are they going to do with him? I need to know!”_

Woods held him back, locking him in his hold tightly, and even though Mason tried with all his strength to be released, the marine was more vigorous than him.

Nothing came out of Hudson’s mouth, which made him angrier and writhed further. Hudson waved and stomped out of the room to let Adler do his job.

 _“We don’t want the man thinking about us right?”_ Woods said to him, tightly clutching, glaring at Hudson, who ignored and left the two.

 _“I don’t care about that!”_ Mason resisted further, and then he realized he was off the ground slightly. With the sergeant being taller, a little bit, and more well-built, a huge bit, it meant an advantage of him towering and almost doing anything that may seem impossible for Mason to resist and dodge.

* * *

**60.1699° N, 24.9384° E, Helsinki  
March 16, 1981**

* * *

_Mason… Mason…_

“Alex,” Frank lightly shook him, lowly voice snapping him off from his thoughts. Alex flinched suddenly from the touch, with his lunch almost falling off from his hold.

He held up the falling food, yet looked at his eyes worriedly, _“I know that look. You feeling alright?”_ His voice, now softer and sincerely endearing.

“I’m fine,” The man lied, hastily taking another bite.

Knowing him well, Frank decided to use the name he finds oh so irritating, yet so charming to him personally.

“Come on, _sweetheart_ ,” He teased, with a cadence on the last word, looking up to his eyes.

The agent felt his heart skip a beat. _Oh God… not you too…_ , he cringed.

Alex looked away, feeling the heat prickling his cheeks, slowly turning red, “I told you not to use that… name…”

 _Bingo_ , the marine caught him. He always knew calling him that would get him talking no matter what. He adjusted in his seat, looking for his face. “Hey, just between us. No one else will know,”

A squad of soldiers marched along, with one of them giving a disapproving look. Frank stared back and didn’t care as he cared about fixating on letting Alex talk about his feelings out and knowing them.

Looking at Adler and back to Frank, he met his eyes, upset from what he was thinking a minute ago. He took another bite, continuing with his thoughts.

“It’s about Bell,”

Frank nodded, knowing what he did to him a few days ago. It was for the greater good for the team, but inside, he felt contrition to the man too. It reminded him of Alex a lot back in the day.

Seconds later, Alex snapped, “He thought he could get away with this,” voice now filled with ire, looking at the sleeping man. The months of torture that followed after they extracted him from the airstrip began to make him not believe that the CIA would do this, but alas, they did.

“Let him find that out when we get to see the man again, and hopefully, he’ll be on good terms with us,”

“But Frank, we are involved in this. I don’t think Bell will forgive us that easily,”

The older man crossed his arms, looking down the way Alex did before. Frank never foreshadowed the consequences of the whole brainwashing program they prepared for Bell, but Alex said otherwise.

“He will live to see what he did, and we are all that is to be held accountable,” Alex griped gravely.

Frank had nothing else to say and agreed to what he said, frowning from the frustration pent up in him.

“Unless Park does something. She said she would take him back, but I’ll be damned if she manages to take hold of it well,” He doubted, taking another haste bite.

They shared their silence, watching Adler. Oh, here they go again. Alex locked on his vision on the man across, taking a few other bites, stressed out.

Frank found it cute seeing Alex annoyed by other things outside of work, his jokes being one of them, but he put it on the back of his head for now as this is much different, and he needed to understand him.

He gently rubbed his back, to which the agent relaxed from it; the noticeable intense breathing calming from the touch, making the man compose himself.

As obvious as it sounds, he told him. “I think she will do something about it,” Frank kept rubbing, _or massaging?_ his back.

Alex could only collect himself again and try to calm down, but his impulsiveness of just going to Adler talking about Bell isn’t diminished. He held few grudges before in his life, but never a grudge this so hard not to let go and let it be.

As they finished eating, they stood and walked around the base, talking more about how their life will be in West Berlin without Bell entertaining almost everyone.

“Going soft are we?” Frank looked at Alex, who was watching the line-up of F-15s and Saabs waiting for take-off. The afternoon in the base wasn’t as hot as they expected, but with the cold winds contrasting, it is a mix he welcomed.

He disagreed, shaking his head. “I don’t think soft is the right word for it,”

“I think being penitent is the one,”

Frank hummed and watched along with him, thinking about the whole experience. Could they redeem themselves from what they did? Alex would say yes, but it will take a lot of time and patience. Frank could accept it; Alex will take it by his heart. He had to understand Alex throughout the years as they were working together with Hudson, and he could maybe endure the years again, but this time, with Bell.

They strolled around further, looking at the soldiers on the shooting range and watching the others engage in close-quarter-combat. Soon after, they stumbled upon the building where Hudson entered, wondering how long he was debriefing the intel to the agents.

“When will that man ever come out there?” Frank motioned his head in annoyance towards the grey building.

Alex checked his watch. It’s 1452 hours. They have been in the base for over seven hours for layover ever since they arrived, but they didn’t expect Hudson to debrief for long periods of time.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe he’s telling stories again,” he said, putting his weight on one of his legs and crossing his arms.

Who would’ve guessed? He walked out of the building, carrying folders with extruding papers and the like.

Hudson approached, voice steely as it was before. “We’ll talk on the way.” he continued walking towards the hanger where their ride is, with Adler still sleeping soundly.

Alex watched him and saw what appears to be are folders that are unfamiliar to his sight. _Deep teal and leather-bound._ _Fancy. New intel perhaps?_

The duo followed, going back to the hangar, preparing for another ride. The aircraft will be having has enough fuel for a one-way trip to West Berlin. Alex was relieved from the thought. He hated stopping by at almost every other country for a rest. It makes him much more tired, ironically, even though he doesn’t mind stretching out a few minutes, but not full hours. Frank, on the other hand, is the opposite. He wanted to look around bases and marvel at the sights of people going about their day.

Hudson woke Adler, letting him know it’s time to go back in the air. He slung his arm over him and helped him position himself in the plane. Alex and Frank soon followed after them.

“You’re telling me Sims got this for us?” Adler exclaimed, impressed by the interior.

The plane seemed prestigious and clean, giving a private jet feeling. They soon realised; it was also used for the Finnish agents blending in at international airports, making them look like they are undergoing a business trip.

Woods raised an eyebrow, studying at the cabin carefully and happily sitting down on one of the plush seats, “Any fancier stuff we can have back home Hudson? Man’s doing God’s work here!”

“You can ask Sims for anything you want, but don’t go overboard with it,”

Hudson sat beside him with Alex just opposite of him. Adler is still sitting in the same position as he was in the hanger.

Few minutes after take-off, Hudson presented the men with the folders he was holding.

“New job? Count me in,” Frank enthusiastically said, holding one of them.

“Not right now. It will be a month after,” Hudson interrupted.

Unamused, Adler asked. “What’s this all about then?” he held the other folder, waving it at him.

“Be my guest and open it for me,”

Sighing, he opened it. It contained piles of documents about the verdict of their op in Solovestky, Bell and Park’s files, and dossiers of two operatives he’s unknown to.

_Matilda Cohen. Stephen Morrison. MI6._

Basic information was given on the papers; Name, birthdate, affiliations, expertise, all that sort of stuff. It wasn’t new to him, but he studied the photos, giving him first impressions.

Adler looked up at Hudson, who was massaging his temples, tired from the countless hours of debriefing.

“We’ll have a short debrief in West Berlin, and once that’s done, we’re on our ways of passing the days,”

“What does that even mean?” Adler asked, closing the folders.

Exasperated, Alex answered, “It means we have time to heal ourselves up before going back to work,”

After a few minutes of shared silence and contemplation, Hudson rose from his seat. “I’ll leave you gentlemen be,” he said, delicately adjusting his tie and walking to the cockpit. He closed the door and left the three on their own.

Finding something to ease boredom, Adler grabbed a magazine and lit a cigarette, gradually filling the cabin with the smoke. Frank asked one, which he happily gave him.

Alex looked out the window, admiring the Scandinavian mountain ranges in the distance. The serene cabin, accompanied by the beautiful scenery, helped him feel relaxed.

Frank lightly kicked his foot, casually grabbing his attention. Alex looked at him, but all he did was smile, continued to smoke, and looked outside. The operative knew what he implied and returned looking out, smiling, feeling much more relaxed.

* * *

**West Berlin, East Germany  
2044 hours**

* * *

The cold, humid, rainy night came, and the trio is packing up their baggage. Sims, now freshened up, carried the heavy ones and put them in the trunk.

“Sims, you don’t have to this all yourself,” Park said, helping him out, with Bell following.

He flashed a smirk, neatly arranging some of the duffel bags. “Nothing too bad about helping, eh?”

She scoffed and looked around the safehouse.“Anything else before heading off?” the woman asked the two.

The safehouse seemed emptier with all the equipment packed up. With the pair managing to get everything needed, no other comprises about what they forgot will surely follow. Sims checked around and shook his head, making sure there’s nothing more to bring.

Bell looked at the trunk and open area and back at her, nodding in confirmation. “Looks like we’re good to go,”

Once everything is secured, the pair hopped in the backseat, with Sims being the driver for tonight. The engine roared, and they back out of the safehouse. As they slowly do it, the sound of raindrops splashing on the rooftop filled the empty ambience.

“I’ll close the gate. Wait here you two,” 

They watched Sims walk outside the vehicle and into the pouring night, turning off the lights and dragging the metal gate down. A loud clang followed, disturbing the rhythmic sound of the wipers doing their work. He briskly walked back into the car, soaking wet from the now intensified downpour.

Bell gave him a towel situated on the passenger’s seat. “Thanks,” He said, drying himself.

“Unforecasted rain. Not sure how the weather will be in the next two days,” Park worriedly noted, looking up to the brightly lit buildings.

“Let’s hope for the best one yet,” Bell said, elation showing.

Driving through the evening was heavenly, despite the heavy rain. Bell kept looking at the many buildings and landmarks shining through the night. What bothers him curiously is how graffiti and poverty were rife within the few kilometres in the outskirts of the capital, yet going towards the inner hub of it gradually removes the brandished image.

Park spoke, moderately maintaining her volume to break through the noise of the downpour. “Enjoying the ride?” She gave him a weak smile.

Still looking out, he nodded. “I find it odd West Berlin is lively, yet has its faults,”

“Not like the East huh?” Sims joined in the conversation.

It’s true, for the most part. Bell found the East almost absent of said poverty and graffiti. Not even evidence of lawlessness.

“Stasi sure does know how to keep them locked in,” Bell mockingly extolled, looking at a group of drunk people.

 _“_ The East would rather hide its faults under the rug. I say their image itself is already at fault,” Park looked back at her novel.

Luxurious cars surround their own, waiting for the stoplight to turn green. It’s contradictory to the statement of Bell. Sure, people are freer here, but that doesn’t mean they get to share the same experience with others, especially if one is lost in their world.

An elderly woman walked by, all soaking wet, with a cane supporting her. Other drivers and passengers ignored her presence, and it made Bell frown.

“That woman,” He pointed.

“She shouldn’t be out here, not with the rain pouring hard,” Sims added, worried for her health.

When she approached them, they were hesitant to give out any, but their conscience soon took over.

Park rolled down her window slightly, careful not to let the rain go in.

She tried her best to speak in German, remembering her vocabulary. “Tut mir Leid, aber das ist alles, was wir haben,” she sincerely handed out a few coins to her cup.

“Danke für Ihren guten Willen,” the woman thanked, smiling, holding her cane tightly, careful on not letting herself fall.

Sims looked back and delivered. “Bleiben sie sicher,” He followed, trying his best to speak in his rusty German.

She gave a quick nod and walked towards the other cars but is still neglected by the occupants. The stoplight turned green, and they carried on, going to the airport through the highway.

The highway was almost free from traffic, which makes the journey even better. With the raindrops still hitting the windshield, which gives off a comforting atmosphere, Bell took the opportunity to have a small debrief with Park.

“Park?” Bell started, looking at her, who was still fixated on her novel.

She gave him a lofty look, ready to chat. “Anything you would like to talk about?” She gently closed her novel.

“This Cohen… How did you know she’ll be carrying a pocket watch? Do you know her personally?”

Park, unsure if he’ll understand, leaned in. “A colleague of mine a few years ago. She would always carry that thing around no matter what,” She fidgeted the corners of the pages.

“I told her to get a wristwatch, but she would rather carry that to work. Old-school if you’re asking me,”

“Did it mean anything more? if you had the chance to ask?” He insisted.

She perked up. “That, I don’t know of,” She emphasised the first word.

He respected the privacy. Maybe it’s the same as the scar, except he heard the anecdote of it a couple of months ago. Is there a tragic backstory to it? Bell thought.

Being the nosy man he is, he asked a few more questions.

“Is she the only one who we will meet once we’re in Century House?”

“Nope. I’m also not sure if she will rendezvous with us there. There was supposed to be another informant of ours, but it looks like Sims forgot to give it to us,” She peered to Sims, who was still focusing on his driving.

He shot a look at Park through the rear-view mirror, showing that it wasn’t his fault. “Hey, that was all Hudson transmitted to me. Put that blame onto him for me alright?”

Annoyed at how forgetful Hudson is, she clicked her tongue. “Are you sure that man has been sleeping?” Park jittered suddenly.

“He runs his life on coffee, can’t really tell you anything more than that. I mean, why does he always wear his shades every day?” he jested, looking back at them for a few seconds.

As they had their banter, Bell looked ahead, and he soon realised. “Oh, now I know why need to be there really early,”

The car halted. By the looks of it, the traffic stretched from the end of the ramp until the airport. It meant that they were getting close. Many of the cars ahead of them had their luggage strapped on the roof, and others are jam-packed.

“Yep. It will get worse once we’re in London. They are leaving for vacation, and lots of travellers will go about. Some of them may be even leaving East Germany overall,” She said, looking at the long queue.

Pulling the handbrake, Sims stretched. “Looks like we’ll be here all night,” He said, grabbing a cassette tape from the glovebox.

He put the tape in and played a song. The music paired well with the rain, and he was enjoying the tunes from it, tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm.

“You have good taste in music,” Bell complimented.

He opened the glove box again, letting the pair look at them. “I have more in there if you want one,”

The woman was astounded by the number of mixtapes he made. “You made all this?” She said interestingly, grabbing one of them, labelled ‘personal’

Sims saw what tape she was holding and snatched it away from her. “Uh... yeah... But only take a look at those and see what catches your eyes,” he pointed at the rest.

The pair took a moment, looking at one of the mixtapes Sims made. Park had her eyes on one particular tape.

She held one up, putting it under the reading light. Interestingly, it’s labelled ‘Adler’s’ She asked Bell. “Does Adler really have one for himself?”

Bell didn’t listen nor answer her, let alone remember the man. He continued on looking for other tapes, but he decided not to take one out of respect for his tastes.

“Looks like we’re not interested. Thanks for letting us pick though,” Bell politely said, giving them back to Sims.

“Alright, but if you change your mind, I could always bring one,”

“Just like the guns?”

“Just like the guns,” He proudly said.

They continued to listen to the tape, playing song after song, over the speakers and waited for the queue to loosen up. The flow of the traffic was still slow, but the music compensated for the boredom the three of them are having.

Park went back to reading her novel to let time pass. Bell took a glance at what page she’s on, and she noticed. “Want to read with me?” she invited, but Bell hesitated and was just curious on what part she is at.

They soon have their ways of passing time in traffic, and Bell grabbed the bag on the front seat, looking at the postcards he picked up and imagined himself being there.

-

**2 hours later**

Once they arrived at the airport, they found a covered car park. It meant the trio will not have to worry themselves getting soaked going into the airport. They grabbed their baggage and continued walking.

People were greeting, sobbing, and gleeful that they could see their loved ones again. Hardly understanding them, he picked up some lines of reunion such as ‘so happy you’re back’ and ‘welcome home’. Bell couldn’t relate that much, because he bluntly thought to himself he had no other place to be in, but to be working for the agencies he’s in.

They stopped at the entrance, with people going in and out, dragging their luggage. “Thanks for the ride,” Bell thanked. “Are you going back to the safehouse or?” He gestured towards the interior.

Sims held out his radio. “I’ll be waiting in the car, but I got my walkie here if Hudson manages to call me,”

“We’ll keep you in touch once we land in London. Thank you again for the lovely ride,” Park cheered, as she patted her coat.

Bell looked back with Sims waving at them, wishing safe travels. He waved back, exchanging their goodbyes.

The warmth of the building greeted them as they walked in. West Berlin during these hours could have temperatures dropping in single-digits, and he was glad heat was there for once.

They approached the check-in counter, and a flight-attendant greeted them. She had a distinct accent that similar to Park’s. “Check-in?” she asked, hovering her hand on one of the bags.

“Yes,” Park answered, handing them over to her.

The lady put a strap on the handles and placed them on the conveyer belt, mixing them with the passenger’s bags.

“Tickets please?” The hostess requested.

The same folder that was given in the early morning was presented, but this time several other sensitive papers were absent, and the only documents present were the airline’s official stamped envelopes containing the tickets and travel permits for permission to leave East Germany.

She stamped the envelopes and eyed up at the pair. “You’re two days early!” she handed them back, appalled.

“It’s better than missing it,” Bell explained.

The attendant gestured herself and looked over the distance. “Well, you’re lucky enough to use one of our finest lounges! Just keep walking forward and take a left, and a sign will show you the way,” she merrily relayed.

Park smiled at her eagerness. “Thank you,”

A nod followed, and she called the next person behind them.

“Guess our early arrival paid off,” Park walked back, smirking at Bell, learning they have access to the lounge.

Bell acknowledged, adjusting his jacket. “Sure is,” he said, tossing her the duffel bag.

“Be careful with that!” She caught, reaction time high.

He then realised. “Oh! I’m sorry!” He exclaimed, hand covering his mouth. The bag had the miniature equipment she brought, and the slightest damage to them could break at any time.

“It’s okay,” She reassured. “Just be careful next time alright?” Park checked, looking for any faults.

Bell kept in mind, taking note of what he will be holding and throwing. Maybe he was a little too excited about going to the lounge with her.

“How about we go to the lounge? I hope the food is just as advertised,” She asserted, slinging the bag on her shoulder.

They walked a few steps, remembering what the hostess said on where it was located. The crowded airport made Park feel uncomfortable. It felt claustrophobic, so she tried to stay near Bell as he was taller, letting her know he is her ‘landmark’ when she gets lost somehow.

Indistinct chatter of different nationalities resonated in the airport. Late-night flights were popular for transiting out of the East and into the various European countries, and Park wasn’t wrong. It’s March, and summer is about to start, which makes her statement sensible.

Taking a left, they saw the sign leading to the lounge. “There it is!” Bell excitingly said.

The lounge was fairly huge. Couches dotting about the place; Although not a lot of people were loitering or present, which gives it an open and airy feel to it. Park was happy to be there, not being back at the crowd.

He scanned the area, looking for empty couches. Bell then pointed. “Over there. I’ll reserve it,”

“While you’re at it, I’ll grab dinner,”

She delicately gave the bag to him. “Anything you want from your mind? How about a drink?” questions smoothly flowing through her mouth.

“I’ll have what they have. For the drink, maybe some juice is fine,”

Park took note and walked away, heading to the little café, leaving Bell with the bags.

As much as Bell wanted to go to sleep, he had to eat first. He stood up and looked around the lounge once more, finding something that could catch his eye. A magazine rack is what caught his attention.

He approached it and handpicked some of the latest issues. Some were in English; some were in German; some, interestingly, are in Russian.

He grabbed the last one, knowing he might pick up new words from it and polish his Russian. Once he came back to the couch, a sticky note was on the table opposite to it.

..-. .-. --- -. –

“Huh? Morse code? Who would-“ he translated it in his mind fast and looked upfront. The woman, wearing the beige trench coat and holding a pocket watch, was seen a few metres away from where he’s standing.

_Cohen?_

A voice filled with excitement followed him. “Before going to London, I want you to try… Bell?” Park noticed him staring at someone.

“That woman. That’s her correct?” He motioned.

“Bollocks, this early?”

Park looked at him, oddly thrilled. She reasoned. “She’s really enigmatic. A strange one at first, but you’ll get used to it,”

“Yeah… Thanks for the first impressions,”

“We’ll get to know her more in Century House. Just wait,”

The woman glanced back, meeting her stare.

“I say we shouldn’t approach her. Who knows KGB are nearby watching and listening to us,”

“Good thinking,” They slowly sat down together back on the soft couch.

Shoving the woman’s presence out of her mind, she presented Bell with the food and drink he asked.

“Thanks,”

“They only had orange, unfortunately. It’s all I could buy,”

 _I like oranges…_ Bell blissfully thought.

As Park was about to open her mouth, eating her food, she caught the presence of two people behind Bell.

One was wearing a black leather jacket and polo shirt underneath. The other was wearing long sleeves. It was none other than Adler and Hudson, leaning on the countertop ordering their food. Adler wasn’t wearing his aviators. How come?

Hudson was next to him, helping the man keep his balance.

 _No… No, no, no… Oh shit..._ _Hudson said by late evening…_

Bell caught her troubled look, which made him look behind slowly but was stopped abruptly.

“So Bell, how’s your day?” She commenced asking, letting Bell avoid looking at him.

_Come on Adler, get out of here!_

“My day? Well, better than ever for a while,”

She agreed, taking a sip of her tea, “Good… Good…”

_Get the hell out of here goddammit!_

“How about you?” He returned the question, taking a bite of the unknown desert, which he enjoyed.

“Oh, doing really good. How’s the food?”

“These taste nice! What are they?”

Adler was still thinking of what he should eat, making her lose words.

“Oh, they’re crumpets,” Park acquainted, casual tone showing. “I wanted you to try some. Maybe you’ll get a grasp on what they will be offering to you,”

_Get. Out. Of. Here._

By a miracle, they walked. Subtle moments of limping were apparent, but Hudson hooked his shoulder over him, helping the man walk.

_Finally_

Relieved, she took a bite of her pie, forgetting what happened.

“Did something happened? You look sweaty,”

Park wiped her forehead, and she was indeed sweating. “Oh, it’s nothing. We’re actually a bit too close to the heaters,”

“Do you want to sit over there?” Bell pointed, a spot of couches was fairly distanced from the heaters.

She looked over to where he was referencing. It was near to where Adler and the rest of the men were sitting. Wait, does Bell know?

“I feel comfortable here. Thank you for asking,”

He continued eating. “Okay suit yourself,”

She saw Hudson pulling out his radio and talking to it. It’s hinted that he will inform Sims of their arrival.

Sighing from relief, she continued eating.

“2 more days, Bell, and we’re out of here,”

Bell gave an optimistic look, knowing he will start a new path with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are as follows per appearance/mention:  
> 1\. I'm sorry, but that's all we have.  
> 2\. Thanks for your goodwill.  
> 3\. Stay safe.  
> 4 (Morse). FRONT
> 
> Also, I kinda think of Mason and Woods, when they're together like only with each other, they usually say their first as signs of being really close, but when with other people, especially at work, they use their last names for formality with the people they're working with. idk but lmk what you think!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcomed! I would like to know if I'm going a little bit out of character with them!


	8. Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adler couldn't sleep, and somehow, the pain from it was associated with the man he didn't know brought millions of feelings and thoughts to his world. Days later, Bell meets the mysterious informant, or as Park likes to say it, her former colleague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update, but it looks like my creative juice finally came back! In line with that, I also came up with an AU(not with this pairing, but another pairing) that is totally different from this, so expect another work to be posted soon in the next months (If I'm in the mood). Even though life has been hectic for me, I'm happy to share this chapter with you!

**West Berlin, East Germany  
2348 hours**

* * *

“… and with that, Ms. Cohen and Sir Morrison will rendezvous with Park and Bell at Heathrow and proceed to Century House. Any questions?” The voice of Hudson occupied the almost empty safehouse, finalising the debrief to the men.

Silence loomed, and a cough came from one of the men. With the silence and heat from his jacket, Hudson felt himself melt and die from the inside. “Alright, then we now come to a verdict. Goodnight gentlemen,” The bald man said, turning off the projector and cleaning the whiteboard. Sims slung Adler’s arm over his shoulder, aiding him to stand up.

Adler looked at Mason and Woods, who were standing up from their chairs.

“1 month. Should be easy enough,” Mason said, helping Woods stack them.

The marine uttered a guttural groan. “You’re making me itch for more there. Take it easy,”

The pair exchanged glances with Adler. They attempted not to speak, but their actions were louder than their words for Adler to know what they meant.

Adler requested Sims to go to Hudson. The duo approached the man slowly. “Still not sleeping again?” Adler asked.

Hudson huffed, clipboards dotted on the table. “I will, soon. I’ll have to finish these and head my way after,” He said, waving a clipboard at him. There was not much to be signed, thankfully.

“Coffee’s there if you need it,” Sims said while helping Adler, motioning his head towards the kitchen.

 _God, his coffee tastes horrible. Why does he like it so much?_ Adler grumbled, disgusted.

The pair headed off to their bedrooms, while Woods and Mason were going to their room as well. They soon left Hudson, who was on the desk flipping pages and papers and signing them accordingly.

-

The dark abyss consumed him, and he freefell towards the endless pit of nothingness. Distorted and blaring voices and screams rang through the ears. With his body numb and absent from control, he could not move and continued to be trapped. His body spun in random directions until he saw what it looks like at the end of it. Door after door, he kept falling. Bangs and slams echoed until the last door opened and closed with a loud thud. And then a sting.

The moment thunder rumbled, Adler jolted, awaking from a deep sleep. Heavy rain was still pouring despite the late hours. Cold sweat trickled against his warm chest and back, dampening his shirt. His heart pounded in his ears, negating the sound of rain. Hair ruffled, he strenuously rubbed his face and the former, struggling to remember what happened. A painful headache came after doing so.

 _Bad dream_ , he collectively thought, breathing sharply.

But the dream hit differently. It felt close to Adler. Close in a way like he was involved in something, but it was too chaotic to put in order. Aghast, he looked across, and Sims was sleeping under the covers. Quietly, he got up and walked to his bed.

He lightly shook his legs. “Don’t touch my legs… Oh, you dreamin’ of ‘Nam again?” Sims felt the familiar gesture and groaned in the sheets, fighting the urge to turn.

Adler slowly positioned at the end of the mattress, keeping his distance, trying not to annoy him this late at night. He looked down at the dull concrete floor, not starting a conversation at first. The soft orange glow from the street lamps passed through the skylight, dimly lighting his face, revealing mixed emotions.

He shook his head, despite Sims not seeing his puzzled face. Living with the memories of Vietnam for over a decade was hell at first. However, over time, he managed to take hold of it and control them with his help.

Thinking that Adler didn’t respond, Sims asked another question. “Debrief? You weren’t listening to Hudson. I can tell you everything that happened,” A growing worry in his tone emerged.

He looked at the skylight, then half-met his face, gulping from hesitance. “No... something else,”

This time, Sims turned and raised lethargically from the covers.

“What were you dreaming?”

His thoughts scattered all around. Adler was not sure if Sims would understand, so he started piece-by-piece.

“Voices. Cries. But I don’t know who's who,”

“You’re not going crazy, are you?” Sims said, slowly scooting closer to him.

The concern made his stomach drop. He immediately shook his head in denial and responded. “N-no… This one is just new to me. You do not have to worry about that. I’ll tell you when that happens,” he assured. 

Not that Adler was getting crazy, he was just getting lost in his mind, desperately trying to get the pieces together, like shreds of evidence thrown on the table. He could get hold of them, as long as he gets the bigger picture.

A sudden draft blew, and he shivered head to toe. Sims wrapped a spare thick blanket over him.

He felt Sims’ hand calmly rested upon the back of his neck, radiating warmth. The gesture was akin to himself getting relieved from his nightmares after the first few nights after deployment, waking up in a panic.

He relaxed and controlled his breathing, further improving his thinking.

Adler opened his mouth and admitted. “There were doors. Too many of them. I kept falling and falling until…” He rubbed his eyes, but his left was much more given more care.

The silence was shared, trying to understand each other; until Sim’s broke it, trying to decipher what he meant. “You were scared,”

“What?”

“I saw you with that look, but it was so well kept ‘til she followed her guts,”

The cliffside. He remembered. The lucid memories and feelings. Getting shot in the leg and chest. Park’s voice. A wave of pain hit unexpectedly, and he groaned.

“It was planned, wasn’t it? I just know it,” Adler said, gritting his teeth, but it soon stopped as he was too exhausted to start an argument.

How ironic. The first parts were, all thanks to the White House and Hudson, but the events that followed were a surprise. “It wasn’t. Pure coincidence is all that was,” Sims answered.

“Then why did you let the two have their own ways?”

“I was late,”

“Late?” Adler unashamedly tittered.

Sims explained the ordeal. To Adler’s dismay, Sims never bothered to stop Park or finish Bell with her. Of course, she was there to intervene, and everything turned into a fiasco. Adler thought; he should have found a much more secluded area rather than somewhere near the safehouse. It was lazy and tunnel-visioned, he could've ripped off his glasses if he were wearing them right now.

“Hell, if neither I nor Park was there, this shit would’ve been done for in the worst way,”

The rain continued to pour, filling the awkward empty air between the two men. Pieces of the puzzle were gradually coming together, but a lot of them are still missing. Never had he felt so lost and exhausted in a day.

“Were you thinking of him?” Sims asked dubiously, looking at his face.

An instant rush of agony flooded Adler’s chest and leg. He grabbed his hair, vividly remembering how he got shot twice, the metallic aftertaste still lingering on his lips.

“I… I don’t know. The kid already knew what I was about to do,” Adler answered.

“If he knew, why let him wait for you to shoot?” Or, why did he wait for you?” Sims asked.

Adler paused, contemplating the clashing questions. He let his mind wander around them. _Let him wait for me?_

Pent-up from remembering the lecture, he responded. “Because I let him…”

“What a gentleman,” a sarcastic tone smothered, followed by a laugh that made it worse.

No words came out of his mouth. The pieces were scattered yet again.

“If I were you, I would ask that question to myself,” Sims said.

“What makes you say that?”

“You were the one in control,”

“Don’t act dumb Sims. You already knew that,”

Sims turned to him. “Heard. I didn’t know you were going to say something to him,”

“You just stood there and watched me from afar? For a god long eternity?” Adler snapped.

Sims raised his hand from his neck. “Hey, things would have got ugly for all of us,”

Their conversation soon went nowhere, and another pause aired. _Why did I let him wait for me to shoot?_

“I’m just glad you’re still here,” Sims broke the silence.

Adler followed. “Well, I’m glad we’re all still here,” _But Bell…_

The digital alarm clock faintly beeped, numbers all returning to zero, blinking simultaneously in a beat with the sound.

Sims gently caressed his back, which soothed the man. “Can we now rest? We got the whole month. We’ll talk about it more soon. All ears on you Adler,”

Adler returned the gesture. “Sure. Thank you, Sims,”

* * *

****Berlin Tempelhof Airport, West Berlin**  
March 18, 1981**

* * *

Staying at the airport for two days was, for the most part, pleasant. With the lounge and its comfy couches, Bell was able to sleep peacefully for the consecutive days. Park had an eye out for him if anything came up. So far, so good. Some days crowded, some were not. And today is the day that the airport is not busy. For Park, it's the perfect time to get breakfast. 

“Bell? Wake up Bell,” Park said calmly, gently tapping him.

Bell opened his eyes. The sun rays and bright white ceiling of the lounge woke him much further. The spotless transparent window, with the rays, showed off the beautiful airport apron.

She helped to lift him, careful not to hit his bandage. “Good morning,”

Bell yawned and stretched his arms and back, sounds of satisfying popping following from the action. “Good morning. Is it time now?”

Park leaned her side to check the clock on the wall behind him. “Not yet. We still have around 2 hours,” She gestured towards the table, hot breakfast ready and steaming.

Bell turned to the table, and his face brightened up. “Oh, thank you!” He exclaimed, further waking up from the sofa, ready to dig in.

“I figured you’d fancy pancakes. Got the orange juice again too to go with them,” Park said satisfyingly, delighted at his awe.

The woman began to eat with him. They spent an hour talking about what comes into their minds. Park started with herself expressing her fondness for going home. Bell, on the other hand, got along with the flow. He accepted the new path he will take with her guidance. Park smirked from it. Adding to the lovely conversation, she got the day started right with a hearty breakfast from the lounge, and it was well worth the wait and experience with Bell.

When they finished eating, they stood and carried their plates with the trays. Bell looked around the lounge, searching for the informant. “Did she leave already?”

“Nope. She left her bags on the spot where we first saw her. Most likely going for a morning stroll. Probably will come back soon,” Park said, orderly arranging the plates and cutlery on the food trolley.

Bell sighed and drank his juice, and settled it on the plate. He stared again to where the woman sat, thinking how she will act or sound. Curiosity bloomed in his mind, exciting him, eager to meet her.

Once back at the sofas, the man picked up the magazines he got from the past two days and returned them to the rack.

Park attended to her coat and patted it, attempting to clean it from the crumbs of food an hour ago. “By the way, Bell, are you a window or aisle seat person?” She asked, zipping open the bags, double-checking. Bell walked to her and stopped in place for a moment.

His head tilted slightly. A simple question, yet difficult to answer. He blinked at her a couple of times, not sure if he was neither one of them. “I guess anything works out,” Bell shrugged, half-smiled.

Park nodded. _Window seat it is,_ she clinched internally.

 _Honestly, keeping an eye out for Cohen from the aisle would be more useful for me to get back into the field. Perhaps I could get Bell to go along with it_ , she smiled softly from the thought.

“Let’s go?” Bell lifted the bag.

Park clicked her tongue as she shuffled the contents of her bag. “Ah, bollocks, I forgot something in the loo. Wait here,”

The woman dropped her bag carefully and briskly walked to the lounge’s bathroom. Entering it, the scent of strong floral perfume made her feel nauseous again. Park looked around, checking the stalls, and examining the wooden cupboards.

“There you are,” She grabbed her comb, relieved to find it on the upper shelf.

A loud click from one of the stalls broke the tranquil atmosphere. Leaving from it was a woman. She closed the door sharply, sending a shiver down Park’s spine. _Ah, Cohen._

They did not make eye contact or look at each other in the mirrors, at first, but instead nodded in greeting. Until…

“You look older than I remembered,” Cohen said, fixing her hair, still not meeting her face. The accent was all too familiar and thick.

Park chuckled and combed, smiling. “Now, _who_ is the older one here?”

Cohen rolled her eyes and washed her hands. After drying them with a paper towel, she met her reflection. “4C,”

“7A and 7B,” Park continued combing the bob neatly.

And then, Cohen left the bathroom. Park stopped and looked at the door as it closed slowly, a deafening creak ringing in her ears. She snickered. _Still Cohen_

Bell stood from the couch as she returned. “We can go now,” Park said, picking up the duffel bag from the furniture and slinging it on her right shoulder with her coat on the other.

“How’s your arm?” Bell asked concerningly, pointing at her exposed bandaged forearm.

She looked at it and lightly trailed her fingers over. “Still healing. Hurts a bit, but not that much anymore with the pain-relievers,”

“Good to hear,”

The walk to the gate was not too long, but they glanced back from time to time to see if anyone suspicious was following them. As the duo arrived at the gate, people were already queueing with their tickets and documents. “Present these to them,” she instructed, effortlessly handling the brown folder to Bell.

The man grabbed it. “Will do,” he obliged.

Entering the jet bridge, they prepared themselves as they get closer to the flight stewardesses. Bell opened the folder, securely holding the documents, careful on not letting them fly away.

“Good day! Tickets, please?” the attendant asked.

Wordlessly, the man waved the folder and showed the contents.

A hand gesture showing the way followed. “Ah, upper deck mister and ma’am! Take the stairs on the right as you walk in,”

 _Upper deck?_ Bell thought. He looked at Park, and she let him lead the way.

They boarded the plane, and visible mist from the ventilation system flowed. People were getting ready and putting their carry-ons in the overhead bins. Flight stewardesses and a handful of passengers spoke English throughout the cabin, and Park felt at home already, despite being miles away from their destination. Instructions on how to be quiet and behave were heard by the teachers, telling them to their students. Some babies wailed, which tremendously annoyed Bell.

Despite the lower deck being noisy, they climbed the spiral staircase, and peace came after. 

The duo searched for the assigned seats, and Bell saw Cohen, looking at her pocket watch in her chair.

The man looked at the lady captivatingly but kept walking. A subtle click was heard from the watch when Bell passed by.

“There are our seats,” Park pointed out.

She let Bell go first, having him get the window seat. The black leather upholstery was cool to the touch as they sat down.

“I doubt it’s your first time in a civilian plane,” she said, putting the bags underneath the seat in front of her.

Bell raised the window shades and was impressed with the plane’s wing view. “I’ve been in some a couple of times but never been in one with a staircase before,” He said, continuing to look at the wing.

“Huh. That’s interesting. Enjoy your first time then,” Park said, looking out the window with Bell. It was not new to her, as she had been on a couple of flights with the same plane before in her life, exploring Europe.

The pair buckled up as soon as the seatbelt sign made a low reverberating beep. Engines of the plane roared to life, and it was music to her ears. Oh, how Park missed the sound of jet engines and serenity. As they taxied to the runway, she noticed something.

Bell sat in a strangely familiar position, belt strapped too tightly on his waist, both hands and arms clenched on top of the manchette, and was visibly shaking. She immediately remembered.

Park gently placed her hand on top of his tightly clenched fists. “Are you okay?” She said, lightly brushing his calloused hands. The action made him tighten his hold, but it then subsided and relaxed.

Bell gladly stated. “I am, now,” a deep exhale followed.

“Mind if I? Your stomach might burst,” Park asked kindly, pointing to his strap.

He cackled. “Oh, I might as well vomit sooner anyway,” Bell permitted her, and she giggled. She carefully loosened the belt, making the tension in his body subside. It wasn't too much for the man to readjust it again to its original state before.

“Tell me if you need anything else,”

“I will,”

Few minutes into the flight after take-off, a flight attendant came up the upper deck and pulled a ring on a string from above in front.

Park hummed. “Looks like they outdid themselves today,” She said, looking at Bell.

“They sure did,” Bell grabbed a pair of headphones from underneath that came with the seat when they boarded.

A few seconds later, they watched Cohen reveal a black leather bag from underneath, and she stood up. Park watched her as she clambered her way to the lavatory. Thankfully, the upper deck has its bathroom, so fewer people shared it with the lower deck unless someone was willing to do so.

After a minute passed, she returned to her seat with nothing. “That’s our go signal,” Park leaned and whispered to Bell, who nodded.

“I’ll go first,” She said, unbuckling her belt.

Once she went inside the restroom, she opened the bag and found tons of floppy disks and technology paraphernalia messily placed in it.

Park groaned, dismayed from the array. “Bloody hell,” 

A yellow post-it note was on one of the disks.

-.- . . .--. / - .... . ... . / .- -. -.. / --. . - / .... .. ... / ... .... --- . ...

Park heard the knob trying to turn, but she locked it. A knock on the door followed. She quickly zipped the bag closed and carried it out as if she owned it.

 _Not Bell_ , she thought, as a passenger occupied the lavatory.

Park returned to her seat and tapped to Bell, who was listening to the movie. “She needs your shoes,” Park murmured.

Without questioning the weird antics, the man untied his shoes and gave the pair to her.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Bell removed his headphones again. “Yes. A lot, actually,” He said pleasingly, pointing at the screen in front of them.

Park stood again. “I’ll be back again,”

Once she waited for the passenger to leave, she left the shoes inside the restroom.

Cohen, by precise timing, stood up and went back to the lavatory.

A few minutes later, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

A voice of a lady caught her. “Excuse me, are these yours?” The brunette said, voice soft.

“Oh my, thank you so much! I never knew he would leave these there,” Park grabbed the pair and gave them back to Bell.

Bell heard Cohen for the first time, and there was something familiar in her voice, but he put that aside for now.

“Thank you,” He said, meeting her face.

The brunette nodded, a smirk following it, and returned to her seat.

Finishing off, Park placed the handbag underneath her seat. “Looks like it is done,” She said, cracking her fingers.

Bell, surprised, looked at her. “That quick?”

She held another post-it note that came along with his shoes. A poorly drawn vehicle was there, along with letters and numbers in a rectangle.

Subtly lolling her head and leaning to him, Park spoke softly. “For now, yes. Now, where were we?” She gestured, holding the headphones.

Bell smiled and returned to looking at the screen, with the movie playing. Park plugged her headphones and watched along. They relaxed as the film continued to roll. The faux op was a success, saved for the part when someone cut in and almost blew their cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated.
> 
> Morse code to text translated as per appearance:  
> 1) KEEP THESE AND GET HIS SHOES
> 
> another note: I'm still trying to find out how tags work, pardon for the tags being changed often.


	9. Two of a Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time to spare, and nothing else to do other than maintaining the safehouse, Hudson orients Adler further about Park's task force and its people, and he has eyes on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will still make some progress so don't worry too much about me abandoning this fic, because I will not abandon this. I just need some bit of time for my mind to rest and refresh and look forward to attending to some of my important things.
> 
> Thank you as well for the lovely comments, it really makes my heart melt! And I never really expected this fic to take off as much as I thought, I was just speechless and I would love to thank you! ❤️
> 
> UPDATE v2: I have revised a lot of things in this fic, I hope they're alright!

**West Berlin, East Germany  
March 18, 1981**

* * *

A warm but burning sensation awakened Adler. It was subtly hurting, but it focused on one particular spot on his body. He didn’t know what it was until he opened his eyes and got blinded by bright light going through the skylight. The soft mattress and pillow weren’t a great combination to it either. 

_Goddammit_ , Adler carped, rolling lazily to the shaded area of his bed, burying his face in the pillow, still groaning from the localised pain. Apparently, the wound on his chest seemed nothing to him. It was more of a bug just to be swatted; a not so important matter to him. The leg, however, was more than what he had thought, pain-wise.

A knock on the wooden door caught his attention. “Adler? How are you holdin’ up?” Sims asked, knocking on it, all while eating his lunch on his one hand.

Adler rested his hand on his left leg, massaging the spot where Park shot him. A hiss escaped between his lips and teeth. “Seems fine. I can _at least_ walk now,” Adler put his feet on the ground and into his slippers.

“Hudson would like to talk to you,” Sims stood in the doorway.

With that, Adler began to fix his bed and folded the blankets given to him for the past days, even though he didn’t need them. Sims kept giving him blankets that he didn’t need, but every time the wind from the windows blew before he sleeps, he had second thoughts. He looked at the digital clock. 1233 hours.

The afternoon was at least kinder to him, except the part where it tried to wake him up a while ago. With no rains and windy days in West Berlin, the man felt better seeing the sun at its highest, warming his senses and spirit. Adler opened the drawer and fixed himself up, combing his disheveled hair, and polishing his glasses. Despite falling on his back days ago, his shades were perfectly fine and unscratched.

He changed to his casual clothes since they were on break for at least a month. A simple dark blue shirt and black trousers were all he needed to wear for the duration. Having not to wear a jacket felt like armour destroyed from the inside, stripping him off of his strong guard, but he didn’t mind it for now.

It was like any other day outside of work on the weekends. To be honest, Park was right, and he felt defeated just by remembering her voice talking about homesickness. As he wore his shirt, he relieved his moments back in Langley, sitting down on his desk and do paperwork with his other colleagues. But today, it seemed that he might do it once again, just in a different place, and with someone whom he doesn’t know if he has slept well. He approached Hudson, who was busy placing and arranging papers in a folder.

“Hudson,” Adler greeted, looking at the man holding the teal leather-bound folders. 

He turned, dark circles under his eyes showing and forming from the past weeks. “I think it’s best to talk about this in private,” Hudson pointed at the office, arms raising lazily from the restlessness.

Adler grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit one. “Let’s talk,” He took a puff and followed him.

As they walked towards the room, he felt a stare looming. He looked around the corner of his eye to see who was watching. 

Mason and Woods were playing cards at the table, yet his hyperawareness caught their looks, and the two men slowly covered their faces again with them. For whatever reason, God knows what, in the first few days of the break, he kept noticing them staring at him while doing chores and errands with Sims to maintain the safehouse as if they have plans. Adler wasn’t keen on the unusual change of behaviour of the men either, especially the underlying tones of passive-aggressiveness when he talked to one of the two, well, mostly on Mason, whenever he and Hudson have business to attend to; be it in private or with the team.

 _What the fuck is up with them?_ he looked back for a second, eyebrows furrowing, but they were busy looking at each other in the eye, having a silent standoff. Being watched asleep wasn’t one of the cards to draw in him, but this was just getting on his nerves. Come to think of it, neither Sims nor Hudson was able to pick these strange queues up, although the back of his mind says Hudson should be the one to notice it first, and it has been irritatingly eating him up ever since.

They entered the office, and Adler turned on the ceiling fan. Even though the blades slowly picked up the pace, he could feel the moisture on his shirt from the already forming sweat on his back due to the accompanying humidity that pressurised the pair. Hudson wasn’t bothered to turn on the air conditioning either since there was a chance of it breaking after Sims forgot to turn it off after he, Park, and Bell left the safehouse days ago.

Adler turned the blinds inwards, ensuring privacy. “Let’s start off with this,” Hudson quickly sat down on the worn swivel chair, opening the folders to him. A picture of a lady and man clipped together. Judging by the photos, it seemed that they were taken recently.

He grabbed the photos, bringing them to his face, taking a closer look. Despite the pictures being black and white, he managed to get the details of their facial features. Interestingly, Morrison looked almost as old as him, yet done in a much kinder way. “They’re the ones who will bring them to Century House, correct?” Adler asked, flipping the photos to Hudson.

He nodded and grabbed another set of papers in the folder. “Park’s task force. All in courtesy of MI6 and the MI5,” Photos of Park and the two people were clipped together, yet Bell wasn’t seen to be with them.

Adler leaned forward, taking in the details. “MI5? That’s only within the UK isn’t it?”

The bald man nodded and gave Adler another paper underneath the stack. “Morrison has a long history working with them,” Hudson flipped another page inside the folder. Records of past operations within the domestic field were shown. “Intercepted comms and crisscrossed intel out of London to West Berlin with MI6’s orders,” 

Another folder was presented. This time it’s black, with traces of worn faux gold on the spine, and an embossed logo of an eagle to go with it. Hudson opened it and was greeted with a photo of Greta Keller, his informant, relating to their mission in East Berlin months ago. “Ms. Keller was able to transmit information about Volkov to MI6 and MI5 after our op in tracking him and Kraus down. MI6 then stationed listening posts all over East Berlin. There were sources revealing connections of Volkov and Perseus in several countries throughout Europe as well,” 

He paused briefly, taking a breath and flipped another page. “Some may lead to Perseus’ agents. Morrison may be our key here to find more information about the Russian’s networking. Possible nuclear arsenals or weapons capable of mass destruction that we haven’t learned and heard of,” Hudson drank a cold glass of water beside him, hydrating himself from the hot room.

Adler hummed as the expression of his face was now in interest with Morrison’s photo. He had never heard of the man in his line of work, nor have any news about his connections with Hudson’s informant, but his remarkable history is what made him much more drawn into the agent.

New intel regarding Volkov’s connections came out of nowhere to the men, and further discovery of said networks will only grow bigger once Park re-establishes networks with the intelligence agencies and scavenges out for people from the bottom of the food chain that will lead to large sources.

“And what about Cohen?” Adler inquired, taking another drag, not minding the heat enveloping them.

Hudson wiped his head, sweat dripping down by the minute. “Unfortunately, this is all that we have, despite my hardest to know any connections on why MI6 gave me her files. They told me to zip it,” He dropped a paper in front of him. It was the only one given to them.

Adler was keyed up by it. He squinted his eyes and turned his head to him, a cunning smile growing by the time he looked at her dossier. Almost all, except primary information on the paper, were redacted. Black markers were dominating, from the bottom to the upper half. Quite frankly, Adler wasn’t supposed to be surprised, but the woman was like among the needles in a haystack, and he flashed a grin at Hudson.

He chuckled softly, leaning back on the chair with an unbelievable expression on his face plastering. “You’re telling me Park has relations to higher-ups?” Adler derided, grin still not falling.

Hudson followed, crossing his arms. “It looks like it. Us CIA cannot dig deeper into Cohen’s history. Morrison seems to have enough of what we need to know.” He waved his hand towards her dossier. “Her, on the other hand, is something else,”

“Looks like you hit the jackpot there Hudson,” Adler mused. They looked at it again and back at her picture. “Why didn’t Park tell us about them?” he questioned, looking up to the man. If Hudson was honest, he wasn’t even sure why MI6 would give them such highly lauded agents, despite not knowing much of their history. For Cohen, at least.

“Transmission of documents was slow,” Hudson wiped his sweaty head yet again, fanning himself with an empty folder. “I also can’t go into Park’s party that much. They seem to keep things to themselves, especially if it’s someone like Cohen. Bell doesn’t know who Morrison is yet, but I’m sure Park is more than happy enough to throw him an icebreaker party for the four of them,” He said, closing one of the folders.

Out of nowhere, he felt a pressure in his head and a sudden wave of emotions going through his mind. It was a mix of a feeling Adler doesn’t know, yet bothered him so much, and he wasn’t sure why he kept having them for the past few days. It kept digging deeper in him.

“What’s wrong?” Hudson asked.

“Nothing. Just getting these spells now often. Might've overslept again,” Adler immediately replied, not sure why it happened again. He let a few seconds pass for the moment, taking in the wind from the fan above. “And what about Bell? Any idea what MI6 has for the kid aside from the agents and said ‘party’?” _What will happen to him?_ he cut off the last thought.

“The three of them have. But it’s their business, so we are not sure how it will go down. Best to wait for our call to London in the next month and see for ourselves,” Hudson huffed, exhausted from waiting for the transmission of Morrison’s dossier.

Speaking of Bell, a question popped in Adler’s head, making him solicitous. “How about our negotiation with Park? How will she handle it with someone like Bell, who was part of MK-Ultra, and be able to handle the crap we’ve done?” he said, leaning back.

Hudson looked at him, a somewhat perturbed expression hiding underneath his glasses. “The woman may have an ace up her sleeve,” He finished his glass. “She may be more than what we’ve expected from her the first time she’s been recruited to our team,” Hudson placed the folders back in the metal file cabinet. “That’s all that I need for you to hear,”

The men stood together and wrapped things up. Traditionally, Adler would be out, going to the rally point, and get the operation done, but he thought that it’s more of a heads-up for him to know Park’s task force and expect from her that can be jaw-dropping that would leave him on his knees when he meets her again.

Walking out of the room, he met Sims, listening to the radio and fixing the car. “All done?” Sims asked, settling his tools, rolling from underneath the vehicle. The meeting only took a few minutes, but to Sims, it felt more like half an hour.

Adler nodded and sat down, watching him do his work. It’s no surprise Sims prides himself with his tools and hobbies in tinkering with almost anything he can come across, and for Adler, it’s his past time to watch Sims whenever he’s done decrypting intel and looking at the evidence board, which is still in its original state before heading to Solovetsky.

“It’s about Park right?”

Adler nodded. “Task force; agents alike,”

He looked around the safehouse, and was watching a spectacle of Mason and Woods in hand-to-hand combat, with Woods being the attacker and the former the defender. So far, the marine seems to be winning the sparring.

Looking at Mason, Sims watched his every move to try to defend himself. For a man significantly older than Adler, he’s still got the moves, albeit much more advanced and unexpected for his age, minus the fact he was losing against Woods. “Who’s your bet?” Sims sat beside him, pointing the fan to them.

Adler took a drag of his cigarette, comically answering the man, showing no sign of delight. “Neither,”

The two of them kept watching, and the tension between the men fighting was at its highest. Woods has Mason pinned against the ground, knife pointing towards this face. “I win,” Woods boasted, hovering the tip over his face.

Woods helped Mason get back up, and switch their roles. Interestingly, the latter seemed to be much more adept with the knife. He kept swinging it and strategically punched the right open spots on Woods’ torso. Partly in Adler’s mind, no one was scathed yet, and he was expecting some sort of truce if such were to happen.

Sims continued their topic earlier, still eating his lunch. “Getting really international with them huh?”

“A partnership, if we’re having a special rapport,” Adler quipped, still watching the men.

Sims looked at him with a mischievous smile. “Speaking of special rapport…”

It took a few seconds for Adler to comprehend what the man said, and he suddenly snapped. “You’re not thinking what I’m thinking about the worst Park can do to Bell do you?”

“Well, for a month, who knows?” Sims crossed his legs, making a shit-eating grin that made Adler vexed.

At that moment, he would’ve made a call to Park and keep reminding her about the negotiation, especially if it means holding yourself accountable for the actions that would cause the end of the world if any sort of fuck-up will happen. The thought of it further displeased him.

Sims looked at him. “Still don’t trust her?”

“How about I ask you that?” Adler immediately sent the question back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Park felt herself getting lost within. She asked herself why, but to no avail. Waking up in rainy London, calmness and collectiveness is what she first thought of as she came home. Now back in the UK, she establishes her task force with the help of some old friends, but they need to take it easy on Bell, especially he has a rich history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient as this is a fairly long chapter! As much as I wanted to update this story weekly, assignments and semester say no, so expect slower updates for maybe a week and a half or more :(

**London, United Kingdom** **  
****March 18, 1981**

* * *

A cold sensation flowed agonisingly slowly throughout Park’s body. Despite the unusual warmth wrapping and securing her, the feeling was more internal than external.

Deafening silence surrounded her, so strong she could hear herself breathing. She walked around, footsteps being suppressed by the ground. It felt unnatural with her heels, hurting her ankles despite only wearing them now.

Her hair flowed through the breeze freely, with the strands tickling her neck as she continued to move.

She stopped when a voice incoherently whispered in her ear, sending goosebumps.

She shivered and looked up at the white sky. There was nothing. No birds, no clouds, just nothingness. It was bleak, grey, and quaint.

She felt herself cry. But why?

Placing her hands all over her face, she tried to contain them, but the desire to let it go was too strong to fight back. Her knees buckled out of dolefulness, collapsing on to the earth, weeping profusely.

_Why am I-_

A hand approached and touched her shoulder, caressing affectionately, spreading an indescribable feeling of vendetta and retribution, igniting a spark within. She couldn’t understand it, but continued to cry.

The voice hushed her. _“It’s okay… I’m here… One step at a time Helen…”_ It spoke, repeating the last sentence firmly.

**_Helen_ **

When was the last time someone called her that? Was it a decade? Recently?

Bell couldn’t say that, no he would never. Adler wouldn’t bother knowing their history working with each other, let alone call Adler ‘Russell’, or ‘Russ’ as heard by Hudson. A long shot for Mason and Woods, considering it’s her first time with them. Cohen, despite their long shared experience, never said her first name once. She can’t remember. Why?

Other than that, the voice was welcoming, bringing resilience and valour within her shattered state as she kept crying.

The spark became a flame, growing bigger and bigger until she felt her chest burn from the inside out. Echoes of her wailing bounced off the non-existent walls surrounding her. It continued for a while until it stopped.

She felt the touch disappear, hovering away, coldness coming back to her.

“Hello?” She looked behind, but no one was there.

Park whined at the loss, sniffling and wiping the tears off her face. The next moment, she put her hands on her sides and looked back up at the sky again, steadily getting up on her feet. She promptly wakes up.

“Park?” Bell’s gruff voice woke her up just in time for landing.

Relaxed from the reclined chair, she felt a soft wrapping and a heavyweight on top. As she opened her eyes, tepidity flowed throughout her body. A thick blanket was on top of her, trapping the heat that soothed her sleep throughout the flight.

Park yawned and rubbed her face. Carefully taking off her headphones, she pulled herself together.

“Yes Bell?” she responded. It took her eyes some effort to try to hide what she dreamt of a while ago.

Whatever that was, Park felt herself palpitate and tremble from the moment. She closed her eyes again and composed herself, controlling her breathing.

_The voice was familiar. Too familiar._

Bell’s finger pointed towards the window. “I think we’re here,” he looked at the opened shades.

Park raised her seat, looking out with the man. _Ah, London_ , she grinned, looking into the bright and vibrant city below. It was good to be home, and having it with someone to share the gratitude exhilarated her.

Continuing looking outside, contentment filled her voice. “We are!” She rejoiced, seeing the rain and lightning in the distance welcoming them to the beautiful city. A rush of nostalgia delighted the woman as it steadily came back.

London’s bright lights in the distance below contrasted the gloomy skies which mimicked that of a novel’s opening. Oddly, it felt as if she was the protagonist of the book she read long ago in her teenage years; arriving at a city with harsh weather conditions, with the city’s lights fighting through the dark clouds, except it wasn’t 1992.

The plane continued to circle above the airport for a few minutes, still in the rainy skies. On the runway a few feet below, some planes were lined up, and some were taking off, hindering their plane to land any time soon.

Half an hour passed, and their plane landed smoothly as if there was no bump. The applause from the smooth landing was faintly heard from the passengers below.

The captain announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to London Heathrow Airport,” a sudden pause hung, “The Local time is one forty-one in the afternoon. Temperature is 8 degrees Celsius; 51.8 degrees Fahrenheit,” he continued to pass on the following information.

“Let’s adjust our watches. London is around an hour behind Berlin,” Park unstrapped her watch and pinched the crown, turning it clockwise. “Oh… and wear your jacket,” She briefly raised her head, looking at Bell’s black leather jacket, then got back to adjusting her watch.

Bell followed and grabbed his jacket from the coat hook on the seat in front of him, wearing it whilst being buckled. He then adjusted the hands of his watch; the same watch Adler gave him months ago when he arrived in West Berlin. Brown, leather-strapped, quartz-movement – a few scratches here and there on the crystal.

An object acting like a memoir of someone manifests into something big and concrete, just in a small package per se. For Bell, it was a subtle reminder of who was with him always from the beginning. Or was it ever from the beginning?

He couldn’t remember every fragment, aside from the false memories of Vietnam and mental torture that were adhered to his mind, but the image of it was masked with that of hatred, guilt, and naïveté. His gripped tightened on the object as he continued to cursorily adjust the watch’s hands, almost breaking the crown.

Once it’s done, he pushed it back and closed his eyes, trying to still from the thought and control himself from the damaged sentiment. Having to remember Adler was one of the last things he could do, and with starting a new journey with Park, he had to put the man aside and forget.

 _Stop thinking about him. You’re with Park now. Why do you keep_ _—_

Bell felt a firm nudge on his shoulder, making his head turn abruptly to Park. “I hope you like the rain, Bell” An umbrella was ruefully given to him.

He relaxed. “I’ll let it come to me and see if I do,” Bell chaffed and grabbed the umbrella, preparing what’s to come.

The plane taxied and soon came to a halt at the approaching jet bridge guided by an airport officer. The duo unbuckled their belts and got up from their seats, grabbing their needed baggage and possessions, including the handbag that contained the floppy disks and paraphernalia Cohen strategically passed on to them.

Voluntarily, Bell carried it, taking charge of the important intel. “I’m putting my trust in you with this. I’ll handle these instead.” Park gave him the handbag and slung a duffel bag on her shoulder.

They walked closer to the exit, and a flight attendant was on stand-by, bowing and nodding. “Thank you! Have a nice day!” the young man gave thanks to the passengers, waving at them. Park gave a warm smile, and thanked him as well, with Bell following her lead.

They stepped out of the aircraft and walked in the long jet bridge. As much as Park liked the rain, the occasional hints of gusts of wind subtly thrashing from the outside through the windows prepossessed her, even so they will be holding an umbrella; a single one rather. 

_Oh well, at least there’s that_ , Park eyed closely at Bell holding the closed umbrella, justifying her thinking that one will be enough for the two of them. Conversely, they would part ways in finding the route to Century House, but Park thought it would be best to show Bell the corners of London as she grew up in the city throughout her life and education.

“Hm?” Bell slowly turned his head, catching her stare. “Nothing,” She shook her head and looked forward, trying to hide the embarrassment, but felt heat growing slowly on her face as she marched along with him and the other passengers.

With the people systematically disembarking the aircraft and ambulating along with them, they progressed towards the interior and arrived at the baggage claim area.

Park asked Bell to look around and search for Cohen, but the man wasn’t able to spot her as the woman was not seen again, and disappeared into thin air like a ghost.

This was the third time Bell experienced Cohen being a weird person. The aforementioned encounter back in West Berlin and the plane trip were the situations that made the man uneasy, yet at the same time, keen. Park clicked her tongue as Bell can’t find her.

Awestricken, the man turned to her, who was at the baggage carousel, waiting for their bags from the chutes.

“She got her bags already?” Bell turned away from her again and tiptoed on his spot, squinting his eyes and trying his hardest to look for the brunette at the vast spaces of the airport and the blending crowd.

Park rapidly tapped her foot and looked at the conveyer belt, waiting for another bag, impatience growing by the second of losing Cohen.

“I think so. I haven’t seen her, even though we were on the same deck with her,” she assumed and grabbed their last baggage from the carousel.

Bell looked back at her, athirst and fascinated. “She’s _really_ living up to your regards Park,” He remarked.

By the time they adjusted and fixed their bags, the pair walked towards the atrium. Park stayed close to Bell as the crowd was much denser than that of West Berlin, and with the time of that of a busy afternoon, it’s no surprise people are having their holiday vacations.

Park’s eyes darted everywhere, from the restaurants to the boutiques, searching for her colleague. She sighed out of frustration.

“As I’ve expected… She always knows when, and where to go. Cocky isn’t she?” She groused and skulked along with Bell, footsteps in sync on the immaculately polished tiles.

Bell’s head kept turning in various directions, looking for the brunette.

“Oh, _you_ tell me. Ever since I read the booklet days ago, it looks like you’re spoiling me to get to know her better,” he chimed, continuing to walk with her, passing by the variety of boutiques and wine shops selling lavish commodities.

“There’s always a get to know party… If she was so kind enough to throw us one.” Park frowned feignedly, “With invitations of course,” she wished and derisively snickered at the idea of it, except their special guest was an asset capable of turning against an agency, shifting the balance of the Cold War, and cause mass destruction against humanity.

Bell chuckled at her never fading charisma. It defined Park as a person someone would most likely hang around with, or have a nice chat at the coffee shop, talking about anything that preoccupies their mind.

It was a disparate and kindhearted trait everyone in the safehouse picked up, although not all of the people had a topic in mind to further branch it out to something that aroused interest to either of the individuals, besides Lazar and Sims if they’re working on decrypting intel or having lunch.

Additionally, she would talk to Mason or Woods regarding their ops and schema about the locations; with the most prominent ones being Yamantau and Ukraine, all while seldomly sliding in some of her inner thoughts about them.

Almost forgetting the clue to where, supposedly, the pair will meet with her, she brought out the now crumpled sticky note and gave it to Bell. The man struggled to shuffle the bags in his posture and maintain control of them, trying to hold the note with his fingers.

He stopped and looked at it closely, then distanced the paper from his face. A car with the word ‘taxi’ on its body was written on it, and a license plate with the combination of letters and numbers were separated from the vehicle in a rectangle a few spaces away.

Park leaned closer, but not too much to invade his personal space. “This is a black cab,” she enlightened, “They’re abundant in numbers in London, and once we go outside, we’ll have to find the one with this plate number,”

On the back of her mind, who would’ve thought it would be a perfect opportunity to show Bell around London whilst in a cab ride?

Park grabbed the bags from the ground. “All right. Let’s get going. Won’t be long until we lose Cohen again.” They carried on walking to the exit.

The smell of smoke and diesel itched their noses as they walked outside, black cabs passing by. With the mix of nicotine flowing through the air, it wasn’t a pleasant place to bask in.

Umbrellas opening and folding, people running without raincoats; a typical day at the airport in London.

A lineup of black cabs was present, waiting for passengers who just arrived. Some drivers were calling out the two to hop in, but they ignored them and continued to look for the cab. Unfortunately, none of them have the matching plate number.

“Should we look elsewhere other than here?” Bell asked, holding the umbrella, looking around.

“Let’s cross. Maybe we can find Cohen and the cab if we’re lucky.” Park turned, continuing to walk.

Fighting their way through the rain and crowd, they crossed the road and saw a familiar figure standing at the end under a bus stop; reading a newspaper, cigarette in between her lips.

Cohen folded the newspaper and looked up at the pair. She checked her pocket watch.

“I expected you two to be punctual.” she griped, accent thick for Bell to know what region she’s from, but no problem for Park.

The brunette took her last drag and crushed the butt on the asphalt with her boot. “Cab’s up ahead. Morrison’s waiting for us.”

Park’s eyes widened from the familiar name. _Morrison? Stephen Morrison?_ It had been almost half a decade, or more if she recalled, working with Morrison in both intelligence agencies.

Most of her time was with MI6 in the early years, however, he would visit Century House from Gower Street to coordinate with the foreign intelligence agency.

Recollecting the experiences with the man was brief, but it felt more like a phase that lasted a lifetime that brought her to the current position she’s in as an MI6 agent.

Bell looked at Park, whose expression appeared astounded by the name. “Morrison? Who’s that?”

She gulped, making an effort to contain her excitement. “Another old friend of mine,” Her hand reached out to Bell, exchanging places with him with Park now holding the umbrella. “And by old, I mean older than what you might think.”

“You really know your colleagues well.” Bell smiled at her enthusiasm.

“I do. I miss—”

“Hey! Save the bickering once we’re in the cab! We don’t want anyone in the street listening to our life stories, do we?” demanded Cohen, looking around for any unwanted eavesdroppers on the street.

Park covered her mouth. “Oh. Apologies Cohen.” she acknowledged, coughing out of impulse. To be fair, talking about your colleagues in public, especially if they’re in an organisation that concerns the security of a nation, isn’t the best thing to do.

The trio continued walking, watching every person go in and out of buses and cabs, searching for their own. Some individuals were hailing and yelling just to catch a ride in the rainy afternoon, possibly going home or elsewhere.

The smell of the diesel and gasoline gradually became replaced with that of smoke – aromatic for food, the other being strong tobacco – which, the former amused Bell, making his stomach grumble, almost feeling himself eating the food. The latter overpowered the scent of spices and umami flavours as they walked across another street.

Stores and restaurants dotted everywhere, resembling the establishments of West Berlin, but more diverse. Neon store lights alit from above through the mist that shrouded the city’s streets, blinding his eyes. It was relatively hazy, to the point of no visibility a few feet away

Park spotted the cab a few yards away with their designated plate. They rushed towards it, hoping no one will go inside and take their place.

Cohen tapped on the cab’s window, “There you are Morrison! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She caught his attention who just finished reading a book.

Bell slightly tilted his head and observed the man move and clamber through the interior fit enough for the ‘team’, unlocking the doors.

 _Black windbreaker, greying hair like Woods, glasses too, at least the years did him kinder than Perseus,_ he chuckled.

The window lowered and the older man spoke, eyes squinting. “Is that… Helen Park?”

His voice was as deep as Woods but clearer as it seemed he didn’t smoke and done anything to damage his vocal cords. Another thing Bell noted was his accent; it was thicker than Cohen’s or Park’s.

Bell wasn’t sure how he would grasp Morrison’s accent if he spoke garrulously with technicalities and jargon.

He prayed for his life to understand him as his knowledge of English accents and slang were near to non-existent. Thankfully, Park’s accent was more understandable, with little to no slang as far as he remembered talking to her. Cohen on the other hand is a bit on the middle ground; Morrison’s on a different level.

Diesel exhaust flowed through the thick haze as the cab’s engine roared. “C’mon now, we don’t want you soaking out here right?” Morrison waved his hand, inviting them.

The three took off their coats and jackets as they entered, taking in the warmth from the heater working at full blast. Bell settled beside Park while Cohen sat opposite to them.

 _Interesting,_ Bell thought as Cohen flipped a seat down in front of them. They continued to adjust themselves, stretching out from the flight.

“Who’s the bloke?” Morrison probed, voice going through the acrylic glass, threatening and baleful, eyes looking briefly at Bell as he started pulling away from the kerb.

“Morrison, this is Bell. Bell, this is Morrison.” introduced Park, waving her hand back and forth in attempts to break the ice. It was a simple gesture, yet meant a lot for the man who was driving.

Bell looked at the rear-view mirror, trying to look, but the man was looking directly at him, piercing Bell into his soul. Bell looked away and waved at the man absentmindedly.

“H-Hi.”

Morrison raised an eyebrow at the stuttering, adding more unsettlement into Bell’s mind. “A shy one?” He hummed, accent mixing with his singsong voice. “I expected someone a bit better than that Helen.”

Park froze on the spot upon hearing her name, eyes looking at Morrison at the rear-view mirror, heart rate spiking up steadily.

_No… It can’t be him… Voice is too deep…_

Cohen scoffed at the bashful look on Bell’s face as she eyed at him head to toe, watching the man fix his posture. Clearly, the woman was also expecting someone better, but she’s going to anticipate something that will leave Morrison flabbergasted.

Park shook her head, taking the dream off her mind. “No time for that. We have something more important to discuss. Cohen?” she tittered, trying to shift the abashment consuming Bell.

“Once we get to Century House. Traffic’s heavy.” Cohen looked behind to a view that certainly will get the quad hours to reach their destination.

“You know," — Morrison pulled the handbrake — “why didn’t we take the tube?”

“Too many eyes. Besides, people are moving about with their children and the like. Such tattletales.” replied Cohen, turning back to Park and Bell.

* * *

The cab ride was discomforting with Cohen and Morrison studying Bell. Body language, speech and choice of words; everything that can tell a person’s feelings.

At certain periods, he tried his best speak up and talk more to the agents, but social anxiety – ironic how he used to talk to everyone in the safehouse – kicked him into overdrive. With the heater working to its full potential, he sweated like he ran for a marathon.

Passing through the wet streets of London, Bell looked around to take his mind off of the two MI6 agents eyeing him and thought about his camera, imagining himself taking pictures without worry.

Park took the effort in telling him the landmarks they passed by whilst providing history and cultural significance to them. It released a weight on his shoulders as he took in and processed the information.

Around an hour passed and they arrived at Century House — MI6’s headquarters. The building appeared to be a standard office building, but in a way that it is catered to residents — flats as they said. Interestingly, it seemed too good to be true as the edifice was standing out against the majority of the structures and establishments throughout its vicinity.

“Century House. One of the worst-kept secrets of London.” Cohen cerebrated, stepping out of the cab.

Bell and Park grabbed their bags. Park asked Bell one more time to hold the umbrella as she gets everything they need.

“What makes you say that?” Bell questioned, holding the umbrella steadily, looking at the building with some of its rooms lit up.

“Known by many. University students, residents, tourists, taxi-drivers,” the brunette paused midway, “KGB agents.”

Bell stifled an inhale, feeling goosebumps on his arms. The last words made the man think of Lubyanka — the heart of the KGB. But it had one weakness, and it’s that the people there took too much trust to one of their people. Currently, he has no input regarding the building towering him.

Taking a breath, Park scanned her eyes at her old headquarters. “After all these years, no word has come out yet that we’re being compromised.”

Morrison switched off the engine, taking his raincoat by the passenger’s seat. “Don’t jinx it lass.” He chastised, “There’ve been close calls ever since you were gone. Moles are getting unearthed by the months on end!”

“Have there been any recently?”

“Currently, by the gods, none.” assuaged Morrison, putting the raincoat’s hood on, taking in the news no mole has been caught. “But don’t get yourself loosened up. Chin up, mind sharp.” He gestured and tapped temples. “We don’t know if any one of us are working for the Soviets. Best of luck to them if they have attempts of breaking in and scavenge all of our files.”

Bell’s stomach twisted in knots from the admonition with butterflies forming every second. He _was_ working for the Soviets — Perseus in that regard. Sure, Morrison doesn’t know his history being one of his associates yet, but walking next to the tall man whose face was abhorrent from the experience made him quiver in fear, almost tripping on the stairs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” reassured Park, looking at Bell.

He nodded, despite uncertainty and uneasiness coating his eyes.

The quad continued walking towards the entrance with agents dressed in mundane clothing. It was a busy Wednesday afternoon for them, and they will get scrambled with news from one of them about Bell.

The first thing Bell smelled as he entered was the bleached floor, strong odour mixing with a citrus scent from the air conditioning that mitigated the awful smell from outside. It wasn’t the nicest, but it was miles better than nicotine burning his nose and watering his eyes.

He took his time to study the lobby with some people holding briefcases and folders, walking and running around. Guards and agents alike talked to one another. The four of them had time to spare, so it was mellow.

A bulb lit in Bell’s mind, suddenly thinking of his commanding officer. Being with the three of them, who’s there to carry out their tasks?

“Who’s our commanding officer?” He contemplated, turning to Park, who just shrugged, face in confusion.

Cohen turned. “Mr Montgomery. Sir Franks appointed him to oversee our operations. He’s more than glad to take the wheel.”

“Ah, Mr Montgomery… I thought he retired already?” Park queried.

“The coffin-dodger isn’t going off his seat just yet,” affirmed Cohen, punching the button of the elevator to go up. “Still alive and kicking. Why replace him?” The brunette looked at the digital panel, watching the numbers count down to their level.

Park chortled, looking at the elevator door. “Well, I’ll make sure to send him some letters and a cake if the day comes.”

“Don’t leave me out,” Morrison interjected.

“Of course, Morrison.”

Bell stood behind and had no idea what to say. What he witnessed was a side of Park he never knew screamed good co-worker relationship. He felt ashamed for not talking much in the cab to them, but their aura radiated that of impertinence.

 _Well, they really know each other,_ he muttered internally, watching her talk away.

Instead of focusing on the vehemence of camaraderie of the three towards each other, he tapped his foot, keeping himself concerned about the commanding officer, waiting for the elevator.

“Oh, are you coming to see Mr Montgomery?” A guard appeared as the door opened fully.

“Yes. He knows,” answered Cohen, stepping in the elevator car.

Bell stood at the corner, letting the three of them take the space upfront. He took the time to look at their features, with Morrison being the first and Cohen the second. The light from above reflected something back to his eyes, slightly blinding him for a second.

_Is that… a ring?_

He looked closely at Morrison’s veiny hand from a distance. It seemed that the ring was made out of silver; etched in a floral pattern; snugly fitting in his ring finger.

Park glanced at Bell, who was looking at Morrison’s hand. She slowly shook her head.

Bell raised an eyebrow, returning to look at his stature, making sure the whole thing didn’t happen in the first place.

Arriving at their floor, Park stopped half-way in the silent corridor, asking Morrison and Cohen go first to the meeting room.

“Are you sure you can find your way?” asked Cohen.

“I can. I hardly got myself lost here since I was first recruited. I just need a moment with Bell.”

“If you say so.”

With that, her colleagues marched. Morrison shot a nosy look at Bell once Park asked them to leave them be. The meeting room was a few doors away, and a bench was next to them. They sat down and put their bags aside.

Bell didn’t dare to look at the man walking away with the brunette. “Is Morrison always like that?” he asked, sheepishly grabbing the collar of his polo shirt, sweat dripping on his neck.

Park took off her coat, folding it on her lap. “It’s a long story if I should tell you now. He’ll soften up once we’re done with the meeting. He just needs some words of commiseration to do the trick.”

“Okay. I’ll take note of it.”

“A word of advice,” she turned to him, looking at him dead in the eye, reminding him, “ _Never_ ask him about his ring.”

Scars; now rings and watches. Like all things personal, the ring may hold intimacy and sentiment to Morrison than what he had thought. For Bell, it was much more personal than a scar or pocket watch as he thought of scenarios relating to it; might be an ex-wife; a powerful statement; or perhaps a personal matter that didn’t concern the formers. It was a bold attempt to wear one in their work; dangerous if one gets caught in the enemy’s hands.

“I assume you know something about it.”

“No, Bell.” she shook her head again like last time, “I don’t know anything about it like Cohen’s pocket watch. I tried to ask before, but he ignored me if I referenced it. He’s—” she paused pithily, looking at the painting beside her, “not proud of it from what I’ve seen.”

She fidgeted the buttons on her coat for a while. “My personal thoughts only.”

The rest of the conversation was all about Cohen and Morrison being her co-workers. Majority of which were backgrounds, except for Cohen as no other information was being told to Bell. In terms of gaining trust in them, she asserted he could.

“Are you sure I could?”

Park nodded. “I’ll do my best to let Morrison and Cohen go easy on you. Shall we go? Are you ready?” she asked, standing up.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter was worth the wait! Thanks for reading!


	11. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the meeting progressed, a problem arises and Park, somehow, managed to avert it with her best efforts. Exiting Century House, a part of her wanted to do something - call back to West Berlin. It, however, took a turn as a certain someone picked it up. She was glad it was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long Author's note!
> 
> Hey! I revised up the summary and fixed some tags. I hope they're alright! Thank you again for being patient as this is a really long(and important) chapter! 
> 
> I should say right now, I'll have to update this fic differently from now on. 
> 
> Why? For me personally, this will give me much more time and creative freedom to write the future chapters, and adjust some plot points in the fic. Also, I'll have much more time to write my other WIP and fix up the outlines of both, to at least polish them and write them in advance. I hope you understand!
> 
> I'm not only writing this fic but I got tons of other writing projects(really long researches and the like) to do and some school-related stuff in general — expect irregular updates. Thank you for understanding! ✌️
> 
>  **CHAPTER WARNING:** PTSD episode

The room was fairly large with a couple of windows draped. Pictures and various abstract paintings hung from the wall, creating a welcoming atmosphere.

What Park and Bell didn’t expect upon entering the meeting room was a metal tray with biscuits and a tea set unquestionably settled on top of the wooden table right next to Cohen and Morrison.

At the end sat their commanding officer, Mr Montgomery.

The man was in his late 50s, wearing an olive green topcoat, hair fully grey. Park nodded in greeting as she remembered him before leaving the UK for Adler’s team.

Now back, Park considered Cohen’s declaration of ‘alive and kicking’ to be true as his expression plastered that of felicity and gratification upon seeing Bell.

“Please, sit down; make yourselves comfortable. We have a lot to talk about today.”

“Yes, sir.” Park led Bell to their seats and put their bags on the floor, next to their feet.

Morrison poured a hot cup of tea for Park, passing it. She followed, giving one to Bell, but the man hesitated to take a sip for a second as he concentrated intently at the beverage, looking at its consistency and colour; smooth and honey golden brown.

Bell sniffed the tea, herbal aroma fresh and sweet not to resist drinking.

Morrison’s eyebrows knitted at the odd sequence of actions unfolding in his eyes. “What is he doing?” he whispered to Cohen.

Cohen shrugged, discomfiture taking toll of her as she bit into her cookie. The commanding officer was sitting pretty despite the unwonted deeds by their special guest, nonchalantly watching his agents relax for a moment.

Bell finally sipped, scalding heat stinging his tongue for a moment, taking in the piquant flavours and notes. A small plate was handed out with a few biscuit-like cakes in various sizes and colours an artist can find in their palette.

“These are scones. A bit unsweet, but there are some things you can apply on them,” Park whispered, placing the plate in front of him. “Clotted cream is over there.” she briefly pointed to Morrison who was applying the cream to his, “If you want jam, don’t hesitate.” she cajoled, dipping the blunt knife into the spread, generously spreading it on hers.

As much as Bell wanted to not eat, since the breakfast and food from the flight were heavy, he didn’t want to waste the opportunity in indulging and accustoming himself to the tradition; let alone if it’s once in his lifetime.

The politeness and hospitality of the meeting were washed over him, getting the man to adjust in his seat to a laidback fashion.

He took a bite of the pastry dish. It was delicious as the buttery tanginess made him crave for more. No hesitation was apparent as he handpicked some more to his plate, gradually filling up space with no room left to store.

“I’m giving the stage to Cohen. She has something to say since we left West Berlin.” Park sipped her tea, looking in Cohen’s direction.

Cohen stood and walked up front to turn on the projector. After a few minutes of technical difficulties, images flashed before their eyes with the first ones showing pictures of Kraus and Volkov.

“You may be wondering why I flashed these first.” she paced about slowly, “Well, ever since Morrison has recovered data from Greta Keller about Franz Kraus and Anton Volkov,” — a picture of Greta was shown, along with Bell’s polaroid photos of Kraus and the nuclear bombs — “MI6 has managed to call upon our network of informants in East Berlin right away. The CIA and BND have also coordinated with us to find more information about the transit of weapons from the arms-dealer in and out of the capital, with regards to Volkov’s subordinates taking over with him being at our arms.”

The next slide flashed. A ‘family photo’ of rogue agents; some have no photo; others were badly damaged; but they all had something in common: names. Among of which was Robert Aldrich – shot down to the floor, whom Mason and Woods neutralised with the decryption of the floppy disk roughly a week ago.

It was hell for Bell to stay up late decrypting it, prompting a rub and scratch to his forehead out of muscle memory.

“Our leads are getting somewhere. However, it may not be enough to track down Perseus if we start from the bottom with these people. As much as how we love them or used to, the truth hurts.”

An envelope was revealed. Inside were the pictures of the suspects relating to Rudnik’s sleeper agent network, but more were coming from European agencies, including theirs, thickening the plot.

Bell remembered the Major briefly. Quiet but magisterial up-close if one gets in his way. How the packaging item came to their doorsteps right now was a miracle to get things started right away smoothly.

Cohen handed out the thick envelope and referred to Park. “Contacts from West Berlin have been… _eager_ to let some of their own be handed to us. I’m sure Park is _courteous_ enough in letting us know who this man is.”

Park’s eyebrows furrowed at the mentioning but dodged it. She handed out Bell’s dossier to Mr Montgomery. He examined it closely, and nodded in approval, eyebrows raised.

“He’ll come, and be in good hands, agents,” he commented and turned to face Bell, “We acknowledge your support for MI6 sir, please tell us if there’s anything you need.”

Bell nodded avidly at his statement and drank his tea, still absorbing his thoughts on it.

Cohen exaggerated too much of Park’s presence as she couldn’t count with her fingers how long she was out the country working for Adler or in other countries. Not that she was excited to see her, it was more of an ‘at least you’re back now thank God’ type of feeling.

Park set her cup on the saucer and held the envelope, waving it to her. “Package sent right now? Excellent. I think we can start in the next few days.”

Bell turned, eyes widened from the immediate declaration of work. “By next days, you mean after a week? We just arrived today.”

“More or less. But we have a lot more time to plan for…” Park breathed, looking at Bell’s face, somewhat timorous, “something else other than the networking.”

“I see.” Bell looked back at his plate, some scones left untouched, jam and cream melting at the side.

“Strathclyde Police and MI5 have been fighting blindly without these. SAS has been tapping onto us for assistance with searches up north, although we weren’t able to catch anything in the sea these days,” added Morrison, taking a bite of a biscuit, glancing at Bell. “down south, on the other hand, we were able to neutralise a handful and investigate regarding connections to Rudnik and Volkov.”

“They appear to be more concentrated in Greater London. Strange, but a not so surprising phenomenon.” A map of London was shown by Cohen as she switched films, red circles pinpointing the rogue agents’ searched and investigated locations by MI5 and MI6 in the recent days.

Mr Montgomery stirred his cup, looking at the red circles in dismay. “Scattered all about, yet so close to us… Like playing whack-a-mole.”

“There will more to uncover not only in the UK,” Cohen flashed another slide to a cropped out map of Italy’s islands: Sicily, “We have unfinished business, unfortunately.”

“But, I thought I finished with that assignment months ago?” asked Park.

“It appears one of their members took the seat of power in the Mafia, yet sources are still verifying from one of our agents in Palermo. It may take some time, but we need to wary of it.”

The debrief kept going for half an hour with Bell listening to it. Among other information presented were mostly about Park’s op in the early months in Italy. The networking of the Mafia was a far stretch, but as it progressed, the dots are getting connected, providing a clearer picture with regards to Volkov’s connections with the organised crime syndicate.

Given that she was working outside the UK for a while, she might’ve picked up or, at least, learned Italian; a far stretch from Spanish, except she wasn’t planning to talk as he heard.

“Do you know Italian?” Bell asked, turning to her.

“To an extent, yes; but I don’t want to think of myself as a Sicilian, knowing how much I crave their wines and prawns. Might make myself get carried away.”

A wave of realisation suddenly hit her out of nowhere from her words. “Please don’t tell Sims,” she whispered, a faint smile showing.

Bell smirked at her unbosomed hankering. Park not letting him talk about her cravings, Woods not letting him talk about the mannequin; all too funny not to share it with her colleagues or anyone from the safehouse; especially Mason.

“Were you losing yourself in your world again Park?” Cohen scolded, condescension asserting.

“Oh come on Cohen, _when in Rome do what the Romans do…_ ”

Morrison settled his cup. “She’s right. Gotta fit in with the locals. A smart move from her.”

Chagrin consumed Cohen, prompting a sigh from her as it negated the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights of the room. “Fine.”

The commanding officer smiled. For agents that worked closely, even miles apart, it was warm to see them get along despite some differences being settled.

Looking at Mr Montgomery stirring his cup, pouring some milk into it, Bell watched him with peculiarity. Audible sips were encouraging him to do the same, but for the sake of etiquette and decency, he decided not to.

It seemed that accustoming to the norms may take some time to get used to, but in all honesty, he was more than welcome to adjust; maybe even pick-up an accent with his thick Russian accent still present. Morrison looked at him with a glare, yet carried on sipping his tea, noticing how Bell talks with his accent near Park.

The meeting continued with other ops not too concerning. Some were low-risk and therefore not needed much attention aside from Morrison who would be in-charge of his branch in Scotland. On the other end were the ops of Cohen and Park that were reviewed in case of miscalculations and missed out information.

Half-way through the meeting, clangs of the spoons hitting the cups resonated in his ears. He continued to stir his cup, pouring a generous amount of milk, almost to a point it overflowed.

Something wasn’t right.

It’s as though he instantly recognised every single tones and octaves of the spoon hitting the cups. High, low, mid; even the sharpest ones rarely heard by everyone in the room was heard by him.

For every stir of the cups, with the spoons hitting the sides at repeating intervals, coupled that with the debrief, Bell began to lose himself in his thoughts. He slowly stopped stirring, yet the peals still reverberate with the people around him continuing.

It kept going for a good minute, with Morrison and Park following suit, almost in unison. The noises were familiar; notes rhythmically mimicking that of a familiar musical instrument.

Sitting at the table with roughly the same amount of people, Bell shut his eyes and looked down, contemplating the situation as it slowly matured to a lucid memory.

He thought: Cohen pacing about, talking; Morrison leaning on the table, sitting opposite to him, windbreaker and glasses combo analogously comparable to someone; Mr. Montgomery roughly in his 50s, remarking his thoughts, moustache and get-up broadcasting a familiar figure; Park sitting beside him.

Everything was real. Too real.

Delusion crept as the overhead lights blinded his eyes despite their gentle glow a few minutes ago. No matter how hard he tried to close his eyes, it kept going.

Beads of sweat trickled down his face as he continued to look down, listening to the rings and clangs of the spoons hitting the teacups.

A baritone voice — no clue how it managed to manifest in Cohen’s voice — went through his mind, repeating and echoing a distinct sentence over and over like a mantra.

Bell looked up, and the olive green coat of his commanding officer struck a chord in him — Perseus, green woven fabric vibrant to his eyes, lights reflecting and flickering the buttons as if it were the stars of anyone’s position regardless of their location being at the wrong place.

Slowly turning to look down at the table, it was now riddled with scratches and white marks chipping along the polished mahogany with traces of wooden shavings.

Bell had no idea how they were formed as he rapidly blinked his eyes, yet the minuscule engravings sent pins and needles throughout his back, making him stop looking.

Desperate to keep himself under control, he resorted to the envelope, which in hindsight wasn’t the best thing to do either. Almost rough and heavy to his hold, he decided to open it thoughtlessly.

Opening it was pictures of himself along with medical documents and other papers, all in Russian; jumbled to even get a grasp on what they mean; sickle and hammer logo at the upper left corner, red at the front and back. His breathing was getting heavier for every look at the letters.

Even though such information was given, with the doubt of knowing if it’s real or not, Bell flipped through a couple of pages. MK-Ultra, medical reports, dossiers of Park, Woods, Mason, everyone he knew; or used to, or maybe never, was there — he was lost. Every single flip was heard, like hearing a pin fall on the ground despite the baritone voice still ringing his ears.

He closed his eyes one more time, pessimism developing by the seconds. With his mind still at war, he breathed again, clutching his fists on his seat. His head began to loll forward, almost making his whole body lean.

Out of nowhere, Bell felt a touch slinking his fists. Regardless of whether or not he knew who it was, he took it in, feeling the soft skin contrast the calloused skin. Oddly enough, he yearned for it as it gradually sent a chill down his spine reposeful enough to make him fight within. It was familiar.

He breathed again, but this time, much-controlled that would follow the gesture lingering and encircling his fists. It was far off from stable, but it led him further astray from the situation.

Slowly opening his eyes, Park’s hand was on top of his. It wasn’t tight or loose, but the thought of her hand carefully caressing his fists resorted to Bell further controlling his breathing. Looking around him, Park’s commanding officer and colleagues looked at them, but their expressions weren’t telling them to not do it. It told them to keep going as if they know.

The sounds gradually disappeared, along with the baritone voice, with Cohen’s voice now evidently clear to his ears as he could hear her whisper to Mr Montgomery. The cups were on the saucers with the spoons settled in the tea, but they weren’t moving and emitting any sound.

“Do you want to go outside?” Park asked calmly.

Wordlessly, he nodded.

“Please excuse us, sir.”

Bell didn’t take time to look at the commanding officer and say ‘sorry’ and instead went out with Park. Once outside, Park led him to a bench opposite to the door, letting him sink into the cool leather. Park sat quietly alongside, grace under pressure.

“Park, I-I’m sorry it happened again.” he covered his face shamefully from the incident.

“Take a deep breath, Bell.”

He followed, chest heaving ever so slightly.

What was different from the episode back in West Berlin was that she was there, guiding him, words reposeful. Now in the UK, he thought he wasn’t back in the darkroom in Germany, and was instead in the hallway, with Park.

“May I?” Park asked kindly. Her hand was a few inches away from the backside of Bell’s hand.

Bell nodded slowly, allowing her to do so. She gently rested it, warmness meeting the cold.

The familiar touch carried on, continuously bringing him back to where he was. At the back of his mind, he thought being dependent on the touch was too much, but with Park’s permission, he managed to put it aside and give in.

Park’s thumb encircled his fists yet again, smooth skin gliding through his rough hands as she reassured him she’s here.

“Your touch…” Bell looked at Park’s hand, now resting atop of his own, thumb still girdling the skin.

Listening to his words, Park’s face turned cautious as she thought the gestures were getting too much for Bell’s state. She was ready to let go if he gets upset by the occasional contacts as discombobulation clouded her mind.

Second thoughts came into play. “Does it make you feel uncomfortable? I can stop it if you need to.” she queried, reluctant to keep the action being done, almost pulling away from his hand.

Bell turned to her and looked back at her hand, a faint smile forming beneath his agitated condition from earlier.

“No..." his hand relaxed, "It… protects me,” he murmured, admittedly.

Park’s face prickled with heat from Bell’s words and her heart sank — a halcyonic gesture of hers making him feel protected was equivalent of a van that crashed onto her out of nowhere, throwing her into the pit of her feelings.

Never in her life someone told her that her physical contact means a lot to them, especially if it means seeking protection or security. For a moment, she rearranged her thoughts fast, trying to keep her cool as she continued to lay her hand on his. Her mind decided to retreat or remain. Bravely, she chose the latter.

Taking a step further, she caressed his clasped fists slowly, still careful if it gets past his comfort zone. He relaxed even further, breathing now at ease. The sight was therapeutic; sanguine even.

“I’m sorry if it’s strange. It’s just-” he blurted and stopped, looking away from her.

Park searched for his face, trying her best to reassure him of his doubts. “It’s not strange, Bell. It’s okay,” she gave a comforting nod, “I accept it if it makes you feel safe. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

They settled for a few minutes, silence sharing between them. She looked back at the door a few feet away, still thinking about the debrief, but for now she chose to stay with Bell, keeping him calm, and if ready, go back in the room with him.

“I want to stop, but I don’t know why I can’t,” he exclaimed suddenly.

“You don’t need to rush, Bell,” _One step at a time_ , the words replayed again, and she decided to say it. “One step at a time. We don’t have to run if we can’t let ourselves walk in the first place. Take a step, some small steps rather.” her heartened voice relayed.

The words absorbed in Bell’s mind, almost engraving them as a reminder. It seemed melodramatic coming from Park given she would be showing off her professionalism at the sight of her superiors, but no one was there, only them talking to each other — Park with him in his current state.

Park kept her hand on him and looked across the hallway. She thought about the whole negotiation and conversations with Hudson. In contrast to what Adler and Hudson said, specifically to what Bell will _unleash_ to the world, it was strikingly the opposite. It was a shame to not let them know his condition and how much it drilled a deep hole in his mind.

A pang of guilt rushed, almost faltering her hold, yet she fought it as it was her choice to keep Bell in custody in the first place.

 _I owe him_ , she reassured herself, looking at him. The man seemed to be in solace as she unknowingly stopped stroking his hands, now unclasped with his fingers barely apart from each other.

She repeated the action, but to herself, studying the science on why it soothed him. Chipping away the meaning slowly seemed to be the way to do it. Looking beside Bell, he coincidentally followed her action, eyes looking at his hands and letting be.

 _Our line of work is full of coincidences_ , Lazar’s voice echoed in her mind. It seemed to be true when she thought of it to an extent. One of them was having Bell be in her custody and a slither of luck turning the tables back in Kashkarantsy. What’s more to come?

She looked around the hallway again, and a flash of lights caught her. A vending machine was stationed near the bathrooms. She squinted her eyes as the sight was new to her.

_I don’t remember that being there_

Colourful strokes and shapes screamed at her eyes into letting her approach it immediately, but she decided to keep sitting with Bell for a while. Shuffling a bit and leaning a bit forward, she got a grasp of what was written. Thinking further, a sentence went through her mind.

 _A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach_ , Sims’ voice loosely replayed, tone acknowledging her.

Patting her coat with her hands, she searched for her coin purse, an object she always carried in case of emergencies. Opening it was a few shillings and pence still saved from the months working outside. A part of her told why she brought it out of the UK.

“I’ll be over there for a while,” she informed, standing up. Bell nodded as he continued to look down, contemplating.

Walking towards the machine, she was greeted with a variety. She already knew what to buy for him.

Returning to the bench she handed Bell a bottle. She bought one for herself to share the moment, opening it.

“Park, you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I thought of something else to cleanse the palette for once.” she quickly opened the bottle, foam fizzing.

Bell hummed, opening his bottle and taking a sip, orange flavour blissfully replacing the sweetness and tanginess of the scones earlier. It was refreshing if he was honest enough to tell her.

They drank their juices for a few minutes, deep in thought as they focus on calming themselves.

Park closed her bottle, exhaling from the refreshment. “Do you want to go back?”

Bell turned, unsure if he wanted to, gulping some more. “Just a few more minutes. You may go if you want to.”

Park shook her head, looking at the door. “Actually, I think I’ll stay here for a while. Cohen’s a bit of a blabber let me tell you that. I’m sure she’ll keep Morrison and Mr Montgomery entertained until the next day.” she turned back to him.

“Do you not like Cohen? You two seem to have some ‘rivalry’ relationship if I can grasp on it.”

Park raised her eyebrows, “Nope.” she thought of a resemblance, “I’d just imagine her as Hudson, yet a bit younger and more senile. I’m used to her except for the man. Oh, and she’s much more tolerable than him.” Again, her words struck a realisation within, “Now don’t ever tell that to anyone.”

They laughed, still holding the bottles, playing a bit with the liquids. “How about Morrison?” he suddenly became a bit terrified saying his name.

“Hmm,” she smiled, “A mix of Sims and Woods. That’s how I see him if I use them as reference.”

Bell’s face brightened a little from the comparison and shook in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“Trust me, he’ll soften up. Maybe we’ll even get to see some ‘action’ if we, you know, put them in a room and get a bet on.”

They continued talking. It was much more personal with Park talking about Morrison and Cohen, and it wasn’t about their backgrounds. Instead, it was about themselves on who they are outside of work, which shed light on Bell to get along with them if they had time to spare.

Bell mostly chuckled all throughout, with Cohen having the most surprising quirks that he would definitely take note of. Morrison, on the other hand, was a bit on the serious side, yet Park’s assurance painted a picture that would get Bell eager enough to know and study him better.

The door opened in front with Cohen leaning out, looking at the pair who were still talking.

“Oh…" she seemed a bit flustered looking at them together, "Are you two still coming back?”

Park looked at Bell, who was about to get up on his feet, but he hesitated and kept himself on the bench. She turned to Cohen and waved a hand lowly.

“Just a few more minutes, please.”

Cohen nodded, “All right. Take your time.” she closed the door gently, not to send Bell jumping.

* * *

They took a few more minutes until Park stood, reaching out to Bell, helping him get up and proceed with the meeting. It went smoothly this time with Park by his side, guiding him through it. There were a couple of times Park had to slow Cohen down and elaborate their information further to not overwhelm Bell – especially what happened earlier.

Hints about the situation and state of Bell we’re privately talked about between the three, but Bell knew already, and he allowed them to talk about it, no ignominy holding them back to be open with it. Park asked if Bell would like to explain in detail, but he didn’t go any much further about it, and she respected it. 

With the conclusion of the meeting as their commanding officer allowed them to be dismissed, the group went out; except for Park, whom Mr Montgomery asked to talk to her for a while.

“Please… He’ll need it for us. And himself.” he gave Park a white folder, not giving the specific details.

She briefly opened it and her eyes widened, overwhelmed with the overall gist of it. “I will sir. Thank you.” she barely stuttered and nodded.

“Off you go now. May your team send regards to our _old_ agents.”

Park marched out of the room, composing herself, and was greeted with Bell grouping with her colleagues who were about to inform him about their safehouse location.

Cohen, being the oddball of the group, brought out a fountain pen and twisted the tip. An ultra-violet light was smartly hidden in the barrel as she removed the tip, settling it in her hand.

“Location shouldn’t be far out. I’d say it’s blended well than our last one. Isn’t it Morrison?” Cohen pointed the light at a particular spot on the map, glancing at Morrison, who was holding the map for the group to see. The safehouse wasn’t far away from Century House – roughly 5 miles south within the capital.

Park leaned in and thought of the structure, settling her finger on the area where the light illuminated the location. “Hope it’s not one of those rubbish terraced houses.”

“Not at all.” Morrison handed out a photo of the safehouse from his pocket, smiling at her apathy towards the previously mentioned houses. 

It was a detached house. Edwardian architecture; 2 floors with an attic based from it – Park hated the lectures of her club talking about architecture days on end without any context, but she indulged in looking at various buildings as a viewer who appreciated the attention to detail despite the years growing up surrounded by buildings built with Brutalism in mind.

Bell asked to take a closer look. “Looks really nice.”

“Better than our last one if you ask me.” Park gratified as she kept looking at the house, eyes darting at the frontage’s trims and minute details, thankful as their agency was kind enough to provide them with decent accommodation.

“All right, let’s get a move on.” Morrison folded the map and led the way.

-

Outside Century House, just by the end of the staircase, Park stopped in her tracks and took in the melancholic atmosphere the rain left, breathing in and out, eyes closed.

She looked down and opened the folder, taking in the details – _dates, status reports, hobbies?_

Looking to the left, the latter words were uncommon to her. Park heard years before in her line of work, but not much was said. Some pages were flipped, and a couple more details showcased the whole thing.

_Cognitive processing therapy… Prolonged exposure therapy…_

Park was extremely familiar with the former, however, she never handed these out to someone yet. It was supposed to bring hope, but her hold twitched, millions of thoughts flooding her mind on how much damage was done to Bell from the brainwashing program just for it to be mended in the span of a month.

A tear formed, and she hastily wiped it off with her free hand, a brief sniffle coming after. Her heart raced steadily, causing her to overthink the possibilities of what the latter will bring as Bell, from her point-of-view, already has enough to know and feel what caused the episode from the past days until today.

Memories and events flashed in her mind, guilt-tripping her participation with Adler on MK-Ultra, but it was needed; a desperate measure to stop Perseus – the messed up method as she thought about it over time after Solovetsky. 

Science did have its dark sides – a food for thought Park should’ve stored in her mind years ago, yet walking through the depths of hell, feeding her curiosity on how deep it gets, with MK-Ultra being the end was enough for her to back out. But it’s too late, for now.

“You alright lass?” Morrison approached her, rubbing her back, worried from her long face.

Park showed him the files about the therapies, doubt overlaying her eyes. “I-I don’t know if I could help him the best way I can. I’m new to this Morrison.”

“Hey, we’re doing this for us and the man,” he searched for her face, determined to let things flow, “It’s not instantaneous, but we’ll get there eventually. Just hold on.”

“You seem calm. I wish I was like you. The things I did to him… They were too much.”

“We all have our crosses to bear.” Morrison reassured her, “We start off in the wrong places, but once we untie the knots, we’ll get to where we have to be,” he looked at the cab with Cohen fixing their equipment, “Cohen would be proud of you in the end.”

She perked up and looked at him directly, “Cohen? Would she?”

“Aye. Over time, that is. It’s not a race. No race is ever won or finished if we keep ourselves running towards the end with no goal in mind.”

Words of wisdom, somewhat, came out of the older agent, prompting a spark within Park that told her no hope is lost. There’s no need to rush, but never she knew she wanted to let Bell be this _safe_ from the things done to him since Trabzon.

“I’ll try. But please-”

Morrison patted her shoulder, “We’ll be here Helen. You could always ask for help; you’re not alone in this.”

Despite the vagueness of the words, they were enough for her to breathe in again, taking in the reassurance from him. It’s not one man’s job, but rather a group’s job - and that's how Bell managed to stop Operation Greenlight from carrying out destruction to Europe.

Speaking of 'group’s job’, something came to her mind – her former team.

“Oh, Morrison,” she called him, “May I go there for a while? I’ll have to make a call. An important one.” Park motioned her head towards the red telephone box a few feet away.

Morrison allowed, nodding as he walked to the cab, just by the door. “Take your time lass, I’ll let Cohen not get crossed on you.” he entered the driver's seat and opened the windows.

Park turned and paced towards the phonebox, carrying her coin purse and folder.

After entering, she stood still, looking at the payphone, her mind thinking of who would pick up the line: Adler? Hudson? She stayed in that position until she grabbed the phone, listening to the deafening dial-tone as she brought out some coins, inserting them through the chute.

Although her speculations of names she thought first on who will pick up the line were more likely, she prayed for the others; she could even chat days on end regarding Bell and her struggles to vent out, even if it means letting the other listen to her for hours – which, partly, for Park, wasn’t a good thing (in terms of letting the communication process be focused on her and not the receiver), but the overall weight of the situation got her to a point the guilt pulled her down to the ground, letting her succumb to the deeds she did – she felt alone, and she doesn’t know if others felt the same, aside from Sims.

She dialled the number to their safehouse in West Berlin, metallic pushbuttons cool to the touch as they were not recently used for a while. The dial-tone changed that to a ringing-tone almost immediately, making her alert to who will pick it up.

A busy signal. She let the coins fall into the vault, and inserted them again, dialling the number faster as she thought of Cohen sitting in the cab, despite Morrison’s promise.

The dial tone lasted longer, anxiety building up in her, awaiting the receiver. It took a few seconds to answer the line, but it felt more like an hour waiting for the other.

“Hello, who is it?” a voice came, a bright one that Park recognised almost immediately as there was a distinct pitch to it that blew a dust of happiness to her.

“Sims? It’s Park.”

“Park! Nice to hear from you! Oh, are you two in London already?” 

“Yes.”

She heard Sims chuckle at the other end; she couldn’t imagine looking at him and see what happens if she dropped the bomb. “And… how is he? Enjoying the fish and chips and what not?”

As much as how vivacious he was talking to her right now, along with hearing her voice, Park couldn’t help but break it to him. She gulped, preparing to say the words.

“He isn’t… right now.”

A brief silence on the line aired. Park might’ve guessed it was related about a few days ago in West Berlin, but it seemed he’d didn’t talk or referenced it out of respect or confusion from the tone of her voice. Park didn’t want to converse about the previous situation for now.

“Where is he?”

Park turned her back, squinting her eyes, looking at Bell helping Cohen with the bags, “Putting some stuff in the cab with one of my colleagues. We’re about to go to our new safehouse not so far off from Century House. I’ll send you the coordinates as soon as we get there.”

“Alright, I’ll take note.”

“Sims?” Park blurted, almost cutting him off at the last word, thinking he would hang up immediately.

“Yeah?”

She thought of a topic other than the usual to keep her mind off of things. “Is everything doing fine back there?”

“Well, Doc is out with Hudson. Said they’re going somewhere to ‘coordinate’ with other CIA agents; a couple from the BND too.”

Park turned suspicious from the hidden agenda. “Did he say anything else?”

“No. Not even a single damn thing about it. Hudson loves to generalise a lot of shit. Almost making Mason and Woods go nuts; had to explain the best I can. Might just be some errand or something.”

“Of course… My instincts were correct.” Park scratched her scalp from the acute perception of Hudson being secretive on everything.

“But something ain’t right with Doc though; I don’t know if that’s the right thing; by the time you two left for London.” Sims’ tone grew somewhat worried and engrossed.

Park inserted more coins, lengthening the call. “Why Adler?”

“I don’t know, but he’s acting much different. Lookin’ at Perseus’ picture a lot more than ever. Got a bit quieter even. Woods and Mason didn’t mind him at all.”

She put the words together to form speculation. “Feelings of righteousness?” 

“Kinda. But there’s more to it. It’s-” there was another pause, as if he never wanted to tell her something personal, “It’s about Bell.”

“Bell?” she looked outside again, and at the cab – which she could barely tell what was going on – with Cohen sitting beside Bell, reading a book. The latter appeared to be dozing off from the meeting. 

“Yeah. Even Mason and Woods are acting much different. Kinda not likin’ how they’re acting towards Doc. But, I gotta be honest, I think they have the right to be, but I gotta control ‘em. It’s like a special someone just left them by the looks of it.”

Contrary to her doubts earlier, it was verified just now that all of them (not sure about Hudson) had formed a feeling; a feeling of realisation driven by conscience.

Park sighed, breath hot against the cold plastic of the phone, thinking about the situation going from bad to worse as it lowered their morale in getting themselves to find Perseus.

“I don’t wanna sound too soft, but I think Adler has… felt Bell. You know what I’m sayin’?” Sims added.

“I think I do…” she felt herself smile, “I also felt Bell in that regard. Coincidence wouldn’t you say?” she tittered.

“Looks like we got a lot in common after all.”

A few minutes passed by with the two talking about their plans. One was about Adler’s team in West Berlin and how they would spend the month with little to no work. For Park, the workload has been dumped onto her, and Sims wished her good luck.

“Any plans for Bell?” Sims asked.

The white folder was on her free hand and it tempted her to open it, all while talking to Sims. There was room for being open to the details, but she wanted it to be brief and quick as her coins were running out.

“Therapy; two types; cognitive and prolonged exposure. I honestly don’t know how the latter will be, but I’ll find that out myself.”

She expected a violent reaction from the man with her saying she had no knowledge regarding the prolonged exposure therapy, but instead, he hummed, taking it in.

“Now you’re doing him a favour. I appreciate it.” he thanked.

There’s still hope for Bell. Hope for him to get back up from the rubble and rebuild himself, adjusting to a new agency with her, and maybe fortify him to work better independently.

“And Park, look out for yourself too. You’re gonna have a lot to learn from it. Don’t exhaust yourself.” Sims returned the act with him now reminding her not to burn out.

“You know a lot about this don’t you?” she questioned, wondering how much he knew about therapies in his life, given they worked for roughly two months.

“Mhm,” another sigh from the man came, but it was more of a bullish and gracious one, “If Adler could do it to me, I’m sure you could do it Bell. Be patient; that’s all.”

Park’s mouth went agape from the analogy, almost loosening her grip from the phone.

She coughed as she collectively brought herself from revelation. “Thank you Sims. You’re a big help.”

“No problem, and yeah, good luck to you and Bell. We’ll be there soon.”

“Oh, before I go, I’d like to ask.” she almost hung up, controlling her hand to not put the phone back to its original place.

“Shoot.”

A brief pause came, then Park smiled, hopefully thinking of the process of helping Bell get back on his feet.

“How much are the polaroid films?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm trying my very best to portray PTSD and recovery in this fic, and I hope I succeeded in doing it. I acknowledge the people who are currently recovering from trauma and have my deepest respects for them coping with it or any mental illnesses. I wish hope for anyone who is currently recovering.


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